Rest Stop
by Zooheaded
Summary: Lyndon learns to be patient and Jack learns to trust. Slash M/M (Part 3 of 'The Hunter and the Thief' series)
1. Creature Comforts

In the Diablo lore, it is Valla who is partnered with a more experienced demon hunter named Delios who succumbs to demonic corruption and slaughters the residents of Bramwell (not everyone, 15 people in a bar/inn, but she would have kept going had she not been swiftly "dealt with.") and Holbrook, while being indirectly responsible for the deaths that occurred in Havenwood. This happens just before she leaves to investigate the fallen star in Tristram. So if Valla is the canon name for the female demon hunter, it makes sense to me that if you choose to play the male, the story would be reversed making the canon name for the male demon hunter Delios. I had already named mine Jack so I kept my chosen name for this particular story.

IMDB says the male Demon Hunter's name is Cort, I don't know how accurate this is, but I do like that name. Too late now though.

Also: The tattoo mentioned is based on the existing Demon Hunter crest.

* * *

_Westron wind, when will thou blow?_  
_The small rain down can rain._  
_ Christ, if my love were in my arms,_  
_ And I in my bed again._

_-_Western Wind, c. 1530

* * *

The fog hung in the branches of the trees, unwilling to relinquish its hold on the landscape. The forest was dim and the gray sky washed the air in a blue haze, it had been raining off and on for days and didn't look like it wanted to let up anytime soon, much to Lyndon's ongoing displeasure. He was traveling with Jack in the countryside southeast of Tristram after Diablo had been defeated in the Silver City, a feat so monumental that Lyndon still had dreams about it and occasionally doubted it had even occurred at all.

That was two months ago.

Now they were traveling across Khanduras, making their way to Westmarch to right some wrongs. While they journeyed, they revisited their old haunts because Jack wanted to make sure that all was well in the cities they had saved. Arriving back in Caldeum after being in cold Mt. Arreat for so long was absolutely marvelous. The weather really was lovely and Lyndon enjoyed every single second, even when they went back out into the desert. The flow of gold hadn't stopped either! Caldeum still had some demon hordes skulking about that the Iron Wolves wanted disposed of and they were willing to pay handsomely to see it done.

It was a great system really, Lyndon could still turn a tremendous profit from the bounties, fund his little _indulgences_, all the while continuing to pay off his debt to free his brother. Jack could keep killing his hated prey and keep himself busy. It also enabled them to spread the knowledge of Adria's betrayal and put eyes and ears on the alert for any sign of her.

Eirena had asked them if she could stay for a while and study in the library of Caldeum. She said that there was much she wanted to learn about the advances of magic over the last thousand years or so, and would meet them when they needed her. Kormac had told them privately that Eirena might need his protection and insisted on staying with her.

How _honorable_ of him, Lyndon had thought. The Templar was getting much bolder, he might even try to hold her hand next!

Imagine Lyndon's surprise when Eirena actually agreed to let that wet blanket accompany her, as she was quite capable of taking care of herself, but Lyndon had seen stranger things happen. Jack had already sent a messenger (a raven that sometimes followed them, Lyndon wasn't sure if it was some kind of pet or not but Jack fed it sometimes and it allowed him to touch it, so it _must_ be) to tell them to meet him in Westmarch in three weeks time. Jack thought it best to sort out whatever it was that was going on with Kormac's silly order before they moved on to dive headfirst into the marvelous little shit show Lyndon was expecting in Kingsport.

Really, Lyndon didn't mind putting it off a little, he was anxious enough about it as it was.

Tyrael was off doing his own secret business, Lyndon could only guess what he was up to and didn't much dwell on it. Something about the Soulstone Jack had told him. Lyndon didn't much care. He hoped they'd never see that stupid, black, demon rock again really. Shen had run off somewhere, promising that he'd find them again at some point. Lyndon was actually rather sad to see him go. He genuinely liked the eccentric jeweler. They often swapped stories about women, one of his favorite topics! What he liked even more was that the old geezer actually _paid_ him for the various gems he brought back.

Haedrig had gone back to Tristram for a while. He wanted to be somewhere familiar and see how the town was getting on. He also had to tell everyone who was left in that forsaken place the sad story of what had become of Leah.

Jack had said they would come get him on the way to Westmarch if he so wished and Haedrig had agreed. Lyndon was glad of this, he didn't want to lose his most reliable drinking companion. Lyndon thought it very considerate of the Demon Hunter to provide the blacksmith with some decent work. Akarat knew that fixing their armor and equipment was a full time job with all the _trouble_ they got themselves into.

Jack had genuinely shocked him by making a promise to help get his brother out of the Kingsport's prison and pay off the Merchant's Guild. Even though they had been through much together, Lyndon still had trouble accepting that the Demon Hunter was willing to give so much to him and want absolutely _nothing_ in return. Lyndon hadn't expected anything from Jack, what had possessed the hunter to _offer _such a thing? Lyndon just couldn't understand. The scoundrel's troubles seemed woefully insignificant when compared to the salvation of their entire world, but Jack had insisted upon helping him. The man was really too kind for his own good, though he hid it well behind a stern exterior.

The thief wasn't very good at accepting such grand acts of generosity after growing up in a world where he had to bite and claw for everything he had, there was always a catch or a string attached and he almost wanted to demand what Jack thought he was doing and what he wanted from him. The sullen Demon Hunter wasn't very good at explaining his reasons. Or expressing his emotions.

Really, he just wasn't very good at communication in general.

The man didn't keep very many friends either, in fact, Lyndon considered himself one of the few. Whether Jack liked this or not was still a mystery. The hunter was very unused to the ins and outs that came with friendship and kept quiet most of the time, but Lyndon liked that just fine, he wouldn't be able to stand it if someone were to talk more than he did!

Lyndon expected that the Thieves Guild would be out in force to kill them when they finally arrived in Kingsport, but what were some ragged, thick-skulled vagabonds in comparison to the denizens of the Burning Hells? Just about nothing really. And Lyndon had gotten better. Stronger. Much more skilled than he used to be. He wasn't worried at all.

Well... maybe just a little. He'd made _a lot_ of people angry. He supposed they'd cross that bridge when they came to it (and then _burn_ said bridge immediately after with lots and lots of fire _please_ and _thank_ you).

It had never been just the two of them before, at least not for so long. There was always at least someone _else_ Lyndon could speak to when Jack didn't feel like talking (which was most of the time). Even Kormac could be amusing if Lyndon got him going.

Jack often complained that he talked too much, but Lyndon just didn't want to feel like he was alone. He would do just about anything to stave off the feelings of guilt, loneliness and uselessness that threatened to suffocate him when he had too much quiet time to think. It was better when he kept his mind (or even better, his body) occupied as often as possible, and if that meant spitting out whatever popped into his head, so be it.

Even if the he was doing _most_ of the talking, they still did rather well together if Lyndon said so himself. Their shared affinity for ranged weapons really helped to grease the wheels of conversation. Lyndon had spent many a dark night out in the wilderness, shoulder to shoulder with the other man, watching in quiet amazement when Jack showed him the rituals and deadly materials he used to enchant his arrows with demonic magic. A skill perfected by the Demon Hunters in the Dreadlands. Jack refused to let Lyndon _use_ these arrows however, giving him elemental and simple replicating ones instead.

"But why not?" Lyndon had brazenly argued. "They're so much better than mine and if _you_ made them then it would probably be _alright_ because-"

"No. It takes a lot of training to resist the demon's corruption, and for most people it cannot be learned at all. I would not have you hurt by my lack of responsibility." Jack replied firmly.

If it had been anyone else, Lyndon would have argued until he was blue in the face, but when it was Jack, he found it easier to accept that the Demon Hunter knew better than he did. If only for this _particular_ subject. He was also a bit surprised when Jack more or less admitted he cared about him.

Lyndon was disappointed, but Jack tried to make up for it by teaching him how to make grenades, bola shots and some traps that contained small amounts of shadow energy.

Nothing demonic though. The hunter would not be swayed on that.

Even with more dark business looming ahead of them, Lyndon felt good to be back in the forests, farmlands and moors he was so accustomed to. Many of the recent days had consisted of trekking through misty green fields, over rock walls and farmland, dark forests and just miles and miles of cold, foggy, wet country. Lyndon didn't like the wet and cold part so much, but after spending so long in the burning desert, frozen north, and even Hell itself, it was definitely good to be home.

They finally emerged from the forest that bordered the eastern shore of the Gulf of Westmarch in the late evening after spending five long, wet days traveling through it. It had started raining long before that and Lyndon fantasized about a bed to sleep in and a woman to warm it. The hunter tended to avoid towns for unknown reasons, preferring to camp on the outskirts, much to Lyndon's endless discomfort and frustration. In his humble opinion, they had spent far too many weeks sleeping on cold, muddy ground struggling to burn damp wood to keep the raw chill at bay, often within viewing distance of cozy looking lodgings. It had been raining for so long that their cloaks did little to keep them dry anymore. Lyndon was cold and wet most of the time and complained often, typically with no response, but that wasn't unusual. It was hard to get words out of the hunter on even the best of days, even through teasing.

Jack must have been cold, wet and tired as well but he never said a word to indicate that he was anything other than "Fine," but there was a _weariness_ about the Demon Hunter lately that was worrisome. Lyndon could not be sure if the other man slept at all, even though he was _traveling_ with him. He was always still awake when Lyndon dropped off and was up before him every morning. He seemed to look alright, at least, he didn't look any _worse_ as the days went on. He'd always had dark circles under his eyes but there wasn't the slow deterioration he'd observed while they'd been at Bastion's keep. Still, he seemed tired, _drawn_ somehow when he shouldn't have been, it wasn't like wandering around in the wilderness was _difficult_, at least it wasn't when compared to what they'd been doing the past couple of months.

A small group of deer pranced into the forest upon seeing them enter the field, leaping high over a crumbling rock wall that bordered the treeline. The most animals they had seen in one place for a long time. Lyndon's stomach growled, they were running low on food again. When they would make camp in the evenings, Jack would sometimes disappear into the woods for a while, leaving Lyndon to his own devices. He would return silently, with pheasants or rabbits, or most recently a young stag. Lyndon frequently volunteered to help (sometimes he got a little nervous being alone in the dangerous wilderness, not that he would ever admit it) but Jack stated that his incessant chatter would probably scare all the animals away.

"I know how to be quiet you _berk_." Lyndon had muttered irritably the night Jack had taken the stag.

"Good, then you'll have more time to practice while I'm gone." Jack called over his shoulder before disappearing into the woods. A living shadow that Lyndon could not even hear as soon as he had gone out of sight. Privately, Lyndon thought that Jack made him stay behind to get some time _away_ from him, which hurt his feelings a little bit, but he had come to accept that Jack needed his time alone. Lyndon spent this time tending the fire and staring wide eyed into the darkness, ever alert for the shuffling of a rotting undead or the pitter patter of little demon feet. He tried not to let his thoughts drift to women when he was alone, it would make things rather _awkward_ if the hunter were to return too quickly.

Sometimes he was tempted to go through the Demon Hunter's things, maybe take a peek at his journal, but knowing him, Jack would probably notice that it had been moved and shout at him. Something he preferred to avoid. The last time he had angered the man he didn't speak to him for nearly a day, and it had been_ terribly_ boring.

These small hunting excursions supplied them with enough food to keep them going, but the local game had not been very plentiful since the demons had infiltrated the countryside, even though their presence was waning, the animals were slow to return. All their wealth and much of their possessions had been sent ahead to Westmarch. They had taken some money and supplies but it was too cumbersome to travel with chests loaded with gold and jewels so they didn't have a healthy supply of gold to aid in filling their stomachs.

Lyndon still kept a healthy amount on his person, as was his habit, but he had also sent much of what he earned to his brother's family, as he usually did. Surely they would have enough to live comfortably in a nice house in Kingsport by now? But he had yet to hear anything from them. It was to be expected, he supposed. Rea hated him and wanted nothing to do with him because of the trouble he had gotten Edlin into. He couldn't blame her, he hated himself for it too. Sometimes he thought it was better that they didn't talk, but that didn't make her hatred of him hurt any less. How old would their children be by now? Would they have called him _Uncle_ Lyndon?

Well, it didn't matter. No point in dwelling on it.

Right, so the animals had just recently started to grow in number again. They had turned most of the deer into jerky and had made new arrow points from the bones. Bone tips were more readily able to accept magic than wrought metal or stone, Jack had so patiently explained to him. Something about formerly being alive, thus making them good for "beginning enchanters" or whatnot. They kept the skull, antlers and skin to sell or exchange for supplies in the next town they came to (hopefully food). The taste of jerky was no longer as appealing as it had once been and Lyndon's stomach growled for hot stew, fresh bread and most importantly, good _wine_.

As they crested the hill at the end of the field, they could see the warm lights of a small village about a mile from where they stood. Lyndon was beyond relieved, "Ah! Oh thank Akarat! Our troubles are _over_!" Just then, the light rain they had been in all week grew heavier, the skies opened and it began to downpour. "Are you bloody _serious_?! Come on, this just isn't fair!" Lyndon wailed, and broke into a fast trot. He was so eager to get to the town and shack up in the local Inn that he almost forgot the brooding man standing behind him.

"Lyndon, where are you going?" Jack asked him with what sounded like genuine curiosity. A dark mood seemed to have swiftly enveloped his tall companion for no apparent reason, unless the rain had upset Jack more than it had the scoundrel, which he really _doubted_.

"Where am I- ugh, to that _town_ obviously, what are you still standing around for?!" Lyndon shouted irritably. He could barely see through the heavy rainfall and could feel the icy water soaking into his hair uncomfortably.

"We're not staying here, we'll stop at the next town." Jack replied icily, turning away.

What in the _burning_ Hells?

"_Excuse_ me Jacky. Did I hear you correctly? Because I do believe you just said that, even though there is a town with an Inn that has a roof and food and warm beds and fires that actually produce _heat_, right down _there_, you want to camp outside again in this driving rain with no food and wet clothing, and possibly catch our deaths in this charming weather?" Lyndon stated sarcastically.

"Yes." Jack answered, deadpanned.

"Ah, yes, that's what I _thought_ you said." Lyndon said with false cheer. "Are you completely DAFT?!" He roared, struggling to hear himself over the pouring rain. He could felt water dripping into his boots from his soaked pants, he just wanted to get _inside_ and sit by a roaring fire for the rest of the evening.

"We are _not_ spending another night out here, its been _weeks_." Lyndon complained loudly, he couldn't believe how ridiculous the hunter was being, it was almost as if he _enjoyed_ being cold and miserable. "I'm _hungry_. We're almost out of _food_ and we haven't been completely dry for _days_. My feet are cold, I'm sure I'll get _sick_. Which will be your fault by the way. No. No! I absolutely won't stand for it, this is the first town we've seen in some time and we're bloody well going to stop at it!" He snapped, wet clothes no doubt making him irritable.

"...We will not be well received." Jack argued lamely after a pause, not meeting his eyes.

"Are you bloody_ serious_? You're afraid of a few country farmers and poor merchants _looking_ at us funny? Like that even matters, you've single-handedly killed the Lord of Terror! What's a few dirty looks in comparison to that!? I get dirty looks all the time! You don't see me complaining!" Lyndon shot back.

"Its not that... its just-" Jack began, appearing to be suddenly upset, even a bit... was that fear he saw? Lyndon had never seen him act this way before and was more than a little confused. He paused in his rant, waiting for Jack to continue.

"Come on, out with it! _What_?" Lyndon snapped when the hunter did not immediately speak. He was getting impatient to get out of this damned rain.

There was a long pause. Lyndon waited, but Jack didn't continue. He stared at him instead, then back at the town.

"We're not spending another night outside, especially in _this_!" Lyndon grit out, waving a hand in exasperation at the heavens "We're going to that town and getting a room at whatever wretched structure they have that can be called an Inn, right _now_."

Jack scoffed, but reluctantly conceded. "Fine then, if you want to so badly, lead the way." He sarcastically waved his arm to give Lyndon the right of way.

"Are you _sure_ Jacky?" Lyndon asked nastily. "Are you absolutely _sure_ you don't just love it out here? I wouldn't want to _rain_ on your "nice" time."

The Demon Hunter narrowed his eyes at him, then stormed past him down the hill toward the town. Lyndon couldn't remember the last time he had been more furious with the Demon Hunter, he was acting beyond ridiculous. What was his bloody _problem_ anyway?

They marched angrily down the hill, not speaking to each other, cloaks wrapped tightly against the driving rain.

* * *

True to the Demon Hunter's prediction, they did not receive a very warm welcome.

The name of the town, Lyndon learned from the hanging wooden sign, was Holbrook, and after a brief but intense argument with the ornery gatekeeper who was very _reluctant_ to let them in after nightfall, requiring the eventual persuasion of a bit of gold, they managed to be allowed inside the gates. They were met with simple wood and stone houses running along a single, wide cobblestoned street with muddy channels running along its edges. There was little difference in the architecture found in the small villages of Khanduras then from the less wealthy houses in the Kingdom of Westmarch. At least as far as Lyndon noticed whenever he'd bothered to pay attention to such things. If you've seen _one_ little village you've seen them all.

They passed a puddle filled with happily splashing ducks while an unhappy man struggled to herd them into a pen, and weaved around several goats and sheep that were being followed by another unhappy, wet farmer. Others were putting their merchant stands away for the evening, likely getting ready to head to the town's inn for a nightcap. Lyndon quickened his pace, eager to get out of the weather. The few residents they saw outside stared at them with obvious distrust while they went about their evening business. Nothing particularly worrisome, people tended to be distrustful of travelers these days due to the recent troubles.

But then things started to become more strange. Some people recoiled from them as if Lyndon and Jack were hideously malformed, this being the exact _opposite_ of what Lyndon looked like at least. Others shouted at them and one simply ran away upon sighting them.

Lyndon always anticipated a little nervousness in a new place with the Demon Hunter around, but this was a little more _unusual_ than Lyndon initially expected. Lyndon didn't think that he looked particularly scary (more like roguishly handsome) and he was very confused why everyone was suddenly so frightened and hostile toward them.

"Go back to the Dreadlands, _monster_!" One woman hissed from the relative safety of her doorway.

Lyndon scowled at her, "Well that's not a very friendly thing to-"

_Hang on._

Dreadlands? Isn't that where- Lyndon realized then that all the fear and hatred was not directed at _him_, but rather at his stoic companion, who had so far remained completely silent. In fact, Jack was currently doing his best to hide himself, he hunched deep into his cloak, obscuring all visible traces of his unique armor and crossbows.

What exactly was going on here? No one had ever reacted to Jack in this way before, though the man's eyes did glow rather strangely in low light like small dancing flames (much like they were doing now) but it was _hardly_ noticeable. Well, mostly. They were looking at him as if he were no better than a _demon_. But they didn't even know that he had _saved_ them. _All of them! _He had saved New Tristram, which wasn't more than a few days away, surely they would have heard of him and his insufferably noble deeds? And Jack was being so quiet! He 'd never been afraid speak up before. Why would he just silently take such abuse from people he didn't even know?

"_What's all this then?_" Lyndon whispered to Jack, forgetting all about their little spat. The hunter said nothing in reply and continued to stare at the ground listlessly.

Well! If the man was going to just _ignore_ him then Lyndon wasn't even going to bother.

"Remember what happened at Havenwood!" One man muttered to another as they passed. What? Did two strangers harmlessly visit that town _too_? Ridiculous.

"Get out of here you ugly demon!" Another woman hissed fearfully.

"_Piss off_ you nasty wench!" Lyndon tossed back and she squeaked and hurried inside. Rude bint.

Now that one was a little hurtful. Jack wasn't as handsome as Lyndon was, but he was certainly not _ugly_.

After enduring many dirty looks and dirty words, the local lodgings were soon in sight. Lyndon had been wet and cold for so long that he had begun to shiver, he no longer cared what the townsfolk said, no longer cared to fight verbally with any of them. They were too scared approach them anyway and the vast majority simply ignored them, which he was more than fine with. He just wanted to get _inside_ somewhere (or some_one_ if luck was in his favor). He was glad to see the tavern ahead of them. A sign swung in the rain above the door, '_The Three Arrows Inn_' decorated with three bolts pointing at each other's ends to form a triangle. How _fitting_ for them.

This was proving to be less pleasant than Lyndon had hoped, but he refused to leave after all the work he went through in convincing Jack to come here. He expected that things would improve once they'd purchased a nice room and changed into dry clothes. The people inside didn't know about them yet (he hoped) and with Jack effectively hiding himself, they might just be able to slip by unnoticed and get a comfortable evening out of this after all.

When they entered the building they were again met with the same old distrustful glances, but Lyndon was ready this time and turned on the charm. He could certainly walk, yes, but it was _gold_ that talked. Lyndon put on his his most attractive smile and plunked a bag of gold down on the bar. The fat, bearded owner stared at him with the most unpleasant scowl, but Lyndon's quick eye did not miss how he glanced at the sparkling coins.

"My good man, if you would be so kind, your best room for the night with a fireplace and fur blankets for myself and my friend here." He said smoothly, grinning and pleasant as you please. Gold worked every time, but a smile never hurt either.

Throughout Lyndon's silver-tongued handling of the bartering process with their less than amiable host, Jack did not speak, he did not look 'round, he just stared at the floor. He let Lyndon take care of everything and attempted to blend in to the shadows. Unusual. He didn't often trust the scoundrel to do such things for him. He'd never seen the man just hide himself like this and fall to the background. It was almost as if he were_ ashamed_ of something, or far more confusing, _afraid_.

He was still a little angry at Jack for being so unreasonably stubborn, but he couldn't help but start to worry.

"Thank you, thank you! You are _most_ kind." Lyndon paid the man and cheerfully hopped up the stairs, eager to inspect their sleeping quarters and finally change into something_ dry_.

Jack shadowed him silently. Lyndon was fine with that.

He threw open the door and was immediately crestfallen. There was only one bed. He did _not_ want to sleep next to that tall, lanky, grumbling _killjoy_. He looked sidelong at Jack, disappointed, and still Jack said nothing! Lyndon expected at _least_ a scowl. The man only had three facial expressions after all: irritated, bland, and murderous rage. Didn't he care about this at all? Jack could barely sleep near him in their bedrolls, preferring to stay as far away as he could politely manage, surely this would be far too close for comfort.

What in the _bleeding_ Hells was wrong with him?

Lyndon decided that one bed was at least better than no bed at all (really, he had no qualms about sharing so long as the other person didn't steal the blankets) and gratefully dropped his bags on the floor. The bed was very large and covered with blankets and furs, as he had asked. Well, that was good too. He cast another glance at the hunter, his long crane-like legs would probably take up most of the space. Perhaps Jack would be prudish enough to want to sleep on the floor? One could dream. The bed looked _very_ comfortable, and Lyndon was _very_ tired and almost wanted to go to sleep right then and there, but he was also very _hungry_. He leaned up his crossbow and closed the door, locking it securely. Jack moved to the other side of the room and started to remove his wet clothes, Lyndon quickly followed suit.

They were both soaked to the bone. His leather boots were going to take _forever_ to dry, same with his coat. Lyndon hung everything he removed near the fire on any hook or chair edge he could find, hoping it would be dry enough to wear by tomorrow. When he tipped his boots upside down, a bit of water poured out onto the floor, causing the scoundrel to make a face. Lyndon glanced at Jack then to see if he was having a similar experience. He had his back to him, and was removing armor pieces one at a time, setting them aside with great care. Lyndon felt a small amount of satisfaction seeing that the untouchable hunter was shivering as well. That proved the man could at least feel _something_. He wasn't infallible, Nephalem or not. Just like the _rest_ of them.

Lyndon smiled to himself, pleased that all of his extra clothes had remained perfectly dry in his bag.

Jack removed his shirt with stiff movements, hands trembling, unaware of (or deliberately ignoring) Lyndon's curious gaze. The scoundrel was surprised to see a large, ornate tattoo on the man's back between his shoulder blades. It was a very detailed work of art that was applied with great skill, Lyndon had seen many tattoos adorning thieves in the guild, but rarely saw ones so intricate. The image was of a creepy, hooded, demon skull with large, angular horns. The creature's hood bore a familiar iron cross design that Lyndon had seen adorning Jack's armor numerous times. Above the skull was the top half of a singular, ornate crossbow and below were decorative, overlapping plates of armor, also bearing the iron cross. The entire piece was richly colored. Lyndon was immediately very curious as to why Jack had it, what it meant and how it was done so skillfully. He thought it looked like a crest of some kind, but he had never seen anything like it before. He very much wanted to ask about it, but at that moment, Jack glanced back and caught him staring.

"What?" The man snapped, the first thing he'd said since they arrived. He realized Jack was naked except for his cloak that he carefully held over his body to cover himself. He was looking a bit embarrassed at being scrutinized, and did Lyndon detect the hint of a blush on his cheeks, how _amusing_, who would have thought the big bad hunter could be so bashful. HA! Lyndon had no such physical reservations. He carefully filed this knowledge away for later teasing.

"_Nothing_, Sir Sourpuss." Lyndon snapped, irritated by the hunter's abysmal attitude. "Better hold that cloak securely, someone might _see_ you!" He teased.

Jack scowled and said nothing, but turned away from him, cloak clutched tightly against himself, and put more distance between them to continue changing. _Bloody child_. Lyndon noticed a large, dark bruise on the hunter's hip, he didn't see it before because he had been so interested in the tattoo. The bruise must have hurt, and didn't appear to be very old he probably got it a few days ago when they had come across that farm that had a demon infestation. The farmer was grateful for their assistance and had rewarded them with food. Lyndon didn't realize that Jack had been injured then, he hadn't said anything.

That was always the damned problem wasn't it? He never bloody _said_ anything!

Lyndon finished changing into his dry clothes and smoothed his wet hair back into place, primping his appearance a bit in preparation for the hunt of females. He turned to Jack, who was now dressed in a simple black, sleeveless tunic and dark, form-fitting leather pants, and was attempting to towel dry his raven black hair with a spare shirt.

He supposed he might as well give communication one last try. "Shall I get us some food or is that too much of a luxury for you?" Lyndon asked dryly.

Jack glared at him, as he'd expected.

"Do whatever you _like_." The hunter finished hanging his clothes by the fire to dry and sat down on the bed to tinker with his crossbows, pointedly avoiding Lyndon's gaze.

_Fine then, you miserable twat._

Lyndon sighed theatrically and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.


	2. Tread Lightly

_"The thief, as will become apparent, was a special type of thief. This thief was an artist of theft. Other thieves merely stole everything _ _that was not nailed down, but this thief stole the nails as well."_

―Terry Pratchett, _Sourcery_

* * *

Lyndon went downstairs to the bustling inn, the patrons still cast him many a suspicious glance, but because he was alone, without his crossbow, and dressed more casually, they were considerably more welcoming. Well, as welcoming as local drunks and poor, superstitious farmers could be to a complete stranger traveling with a decidedly dangerous looking, and grim individual at any rate. Which meant that they were_ ignoring_ him. That suited Lyndon just fine, he was used to being a new face in a town he'd never been to before. It was easy to fall back into the old rhythms of blending in when he didn't want to be seen and making a show of himself when he desired to be noticed. He'd been doing it successfully for years and _certainly_ didn't need Jack to hold his hand.

Ignorance was a cutpurse's _very_ _best_ friend after all.

At least no one was shouting things at him anymore. He could understand why Jack had made them nervous, the miserable sod practically had a storm cloud over his head at all times. He just didn't know how to _smile_ to put people at ease. That and his penchant for dressing in all black like some godsdamned bloody grim reaper probably didn't help his case much either. Lyndon always knew that he was the more _charming_ one in their little duo.

He leisurely strolled up to the bar to read the posted menu for that evening and elbowed his way in between the locals to see what was behind the counter to eat. Pack beast stew, _very_ promising, a Khanduras favorite. Much better than eating dried venison for days on end. The stew was simmering in a large pot in the tavern's backroom and as soon as he smelled it he felt his mouth begin to water. He eyed the drink list now, mostly local brews, some promising sounding harvest ales -and huh, that meant they _had_ missed the harvest festival in Westmarch, how _disappointing_\- and wines imported from Westmarch. Unusual, he didn't think anyone in this little village could even afford such pricy drinks. More for _him_ then! As Lyndon glanced around at the patrons, he quickly spied a pretty young thing with a gorgeous figure and flowing brown hair, sitting at a nearby table, tittering with her friends.

What a nice surprise! He decided that he'd earned a little alone time from the boss upstairs. He stared at the girl openly, leaning against the bar and smirking, waiting for her to notice him. He winked at her when she caught his eye. She giggled, blushed and turned to whisper excitedly to her friends while glancing back at him every so often.

Ahhh, at least _some_ things were still normal around here. He might even get lucky tonight if he played his cards right. Ha, who was he kidding? He was _always_ lucky with girls! Though they would have to have their romp at _her_ place as he was in no position to entertain guests. He could barely entertain the wretched bastard upstairs as it was.

Preferring to allow his chosen conquest to become adequately curious about him before he made his move, Lyndon decided to make the rounds of the spacious tavern before he introduced himself. He ordered a pint of the local ale and casually sauntered through the bar, weaving around barmaids and patrons. A sip of the ale revealed that, though it was not the _best_ he had ever had, it certainly wasn't the horse piss he feared it would be. _Nice_. He began to observe, sizing up the room and cataloging who was here, and who was _easy_, as was his usual habit. There were people gathered around a large fireplace at the far wall opposite the bar. A large pack beast head was displayed proudly above the stone and wood mantle. On the mantle itself was scattered some pottery of various sizes, probably locally made. Nothing too valuable was ever out on display in such a public place. Probably because of thieves like himself.

Lyndon joined the huddled group, found a seat near the fire and warmed himself gratefully for a few minutes. He still felt quite a chill from being out in the rain and wished for the hundredth time that he had a spare cloak or a warmer shirt, his simple tunic wasn't doing much for him at the moment. He should have just worn a blanket down, and to _Hell_ with what anyone else thought. The rain was still coming down heavily outside, he could see it pouring off the edge of the roof through the curtains on the glass window. With his luck it would probably freeze overnight. He wasn't looking forward to trudging through cold mud tomorrow. Especially if his boots didn't dry properly.

He sighed, taking a long pull from his mug.

This Inn seemed to be unusually crowded for such a small town, but Lyndon supposed it was likely due to the poor weather. It was probably warmer in here than many of the farmer's own houses, depending on how poor they were. He was unfortunately familiar with those kinds of circumstances, having spent much of his life in the Kingsport slums. Lyndon's eyes moved deftly from person to person. He saw some easy pickings among the more upper class individuals and decided to take the opportunity (without Jack nannying him) to engage in some profitable stress relief. Good old fashioned _pilfering_. He walked through the crowd, nursing his drink, quicksilver fingers lifting jewelry, rings, purses of money and even a pair of earrings, all without a single person even looking up. If stealing could be considered a craft, he would say he had mastered it. And if he wasn't going to give up stealing right _away_, despite promises he had made, he at least wasn't going to take anything from people who couldn't afford to lose a few coins here or a shiny bauble there.

Mm, _baby steps_.

Lyndon felt an uncomfortable prickling sensation spread over the back of his neck and realized that he was being watched. Some men, four to a corner table, were attempting to be subtle about staring at him. He cast them a sweeping glance, making it appear to be an accident, and took careful note when they looked away quickly. Lyndon knew that _no one_ could have seen him pickpocketing. Other than when he had been much younger, the only person to have ever caught him in the act was the Demon Hunter upstairs. These men must have been watching him for some _other_ reason. Perhaps they saw him and Jack arrive in town and wanted to harm them?

It was very possible. _Lots_ of things wanted to kill them, and for some _unfathomable_ reason, not many people liked Demon Hunters all that much. In a small town like Holbrook, word of strangers traveled fast.

Or perhaps they had have seen him throwing his gold around earlier and were looking to rob him? _Ha!_ He wished them the best of luck. Even without the Demon Hunter around, _no one_ stole from him. _Ever_. He supposed either scenario was a possibility but neither was particularly worrisome. There was little that _truly_ worried him anymore after visiting Hell, least of all petty thieves. He tried not to think of what awaited him in Kingsport, shrugging off the bad thought with practiced ease.

Lyndon pointedly did not look back at the men as he strolled his merry way back to the bar. He instead glanced at them through his peripherals as he ordered two large helpings of the stew, a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of the best wine they had in the back. One man was speaking urgently to a much put upon barmaid while the others continued to state at him. He heaved a sigh.

How _tiresome_.

Still, he'd have to make sure their door was locked tightly. Lyndon wanted to enjoy sleeping in an actual bed for long as possible, and being disturbed in the middle of the night didn't _quite_ agree with this desire.

The thief promptly assumed the men were a minimal threat and forgot all about them as soon as there was food set in front of him.

Though Jack was being as stubborn as an ass, Lyndon did not want him to go hungry. He much preferred him alive and able to protect them from demonic hordes, babbling cultists, demon lords, or even ornery, wandering foliage. He couldn't very well do that on an empty stomach now, could he?

Well, previous experience said that he _could_, but Lyndon supposed he should bring him something to eat all the same.

Feeling rather good, Lyndon tipped the bartender generously with some of the gold he'd lifted. He loved a five finger discount! He snagged an empty tray from behind the bar, drifted over to the table of women, food in hand, and proceeded to look them over. Well, well, a redhead a blonde and a brunette. All his favorites in one convenient place!

"Good evening ladies." He said, smiling widely.

"Good evening!" They parroted, then laughed, obviously all quite drunk. This made it all the easier for Lyndon to seduce them. Not that he ever needed help, mind you.

"I was just on my way to visit my friend in his room, but I thought I'd come over and say hullo." Lyndon addressed them amiably.

"Your friend you say? Is he as _handsome_ as you?" The blonde girl cackled like a chicken ready to lay an egg.

"Nooo, nonono, not _quite_." Lyndon said, grinning. He immediately thought of the dashing war hero image the hunter seemed to fit so easily, even though he didn't even try. Bastard.

"I saw him come in with you, but his face was hidden by his cloak. He looked strong! You two aren't from 'round here are you?" The brunette he had initially noticed said to him, nearly spilling her drink all over the table. He smiled. What a charming bunch of ladies!

"I am from _Kingsport_, but I have been... _traveling_ around recently to far off places. I'm just passing through your fair village." He continued, using his most irresistible voice. It was always a tossup whether he would say he was from Kingsport or Westmarch, depending on what his evening's quarry seemed to find most interesting. People from Westmarch tended to look down their noses at Kingsport residents, but people from smaller towns in Khanduras usually know any better. All the better for him, and he'd disguised his native accent well enough into something a bit more cultured so no one would ever mistake him for lower class.

"Oooh, did you hear that girls? He's an _adventurer_!" The red haired girl exclaimed. They all laughed again and he joined in. It was almost too easy for Lyndon to make them like him, he hardly had to do anything at all. It was a simple thing to rely on the good looks he was blessed with, and the charm he had honed with practice. It did the work for him really.

"Why_ yes _darling_, _an adventurer indeed! I've been to all sorts of _wild_ places. My name is Lyndon." He said seductively. "Ah! No need to introduce yourselves!" He interrupted them quickly (he didn't care what their names were anyway). "I was going to turn in for the evening, but I think that after seeing such _lovely_, young ladies I'll be coming back downstairs _very_ soon, then we can all get better acquainted."

"Take your time Lyndon, we'll be here all night!" The blonde said, laughing.

"I look forward to sharing your... _company_." Lyndon said then nodded goodbye.

Hmm, he thought that went very well, he definitely had a chance or three. Now to go eat before his dinner got cold.

Lyndon ventured back up the creaking, wooden staircase, stomach growling, positively _starving_ now. Once he got to the closed door he remembered the sulky Demon Hunter and his good mood was slightly dampened. Sometimes he wondered why the Demon Hunter even bothered to bring him along if he apparently hated conversing with Lyndon so much. It didn't make a whole lot of sense to him. He thought he'd be used to Jack's sour moods by now, but they still _irked_ him every single bloody time.

Resigning himself to another round of the game "mutters and glares," he sighed heavily, and opened the door, carefully balancing their food on the tray he'd borrowed.

He was surprised to see all their clothes strung up on several ropes, held firmly to the wall by arrows. Apparently, Jack had thought their casual draping of clothing on chairs and wall hooks wasn't good enough. There was so much hanging fabric that Lyndon was momentarily reminded of the makeshift hovels in the Caldeum sewers. Jack was sitting in the room's only armchair, pulled right up to the fireplace, surrounded by a curtain of cloaks and garments. His eyes were half lidded, the glint of their burning gaze clearly visible from the doorway, matching the fire they stared into. Lyndon noted the hunter's posture: tense but tired. Years as a thief had taught him how to read people very well, he could tell that something was gnawing away at the man but he wasn't sure how to approach him to dispel it.

Arm beginning to ache, Lyndon closed the door and walked to the table to set the food tray down. It was strange to see Jack so under-dressed. Lyndon was very used to the imposing figure he cut in full Demon Hunter armor. Without it, he looked much smaller, still lean and muscular, and taller than anyone he had ever met save perhaps, a _barbarian_, but a little thin from too many missed meals. In his black, sleeveless tunic, Lyndon could see the bare skin of his arms for the first time in months. His bare feet propped upon the hearth to be warmed were perhaps the strangest of all.

"Hey, I brought some dinner, are you hungry?" Lyndon called to him. Nothing, not even a head turn. Lyndon sighed softly and set the tray down on the small table. How_ frustrating_. He really wasn't in the mood to put up with this anymore. They'd had their little fights before, sure, but most of them were forgotten about or resolved quickly. Jack had a quick temper, but did not usually stay angry at the rogue for long. Lyndon rarely got mad at _all_. It was pointless to stay mad about small things. He simply didn't _care_.

"...Are you alright?" Was he still just ignoring him? Or was something _truly_ wrong? Concern was winning out over any lingering irritation he had and Lyndon wondered when he had slipped into this new role of actually_ giving_ a damn, rather than doing his best to simply ignore the other man and get away with as much gold as he could carry.

"Jack?" Lyndon said approaching the armchair cautiously.

He leaned in closely by Jack's ear, not quite touching him and whispered, "Jacky?" The hunter jumped, sitting bolt upright, scaring them both. "Lyndon?! Don't sneak up on me! And I told you not to _call_ me that!" He barked.

"Yes, I know." Lyndon replied grinning. "And I wasn't _sneaking_!" He sneered. "I said your name more than once, you must have been day dreaming, or thinking too deeply. Were you trying to _sleep_ or something?" He asked all at once.

The hunter rolled his shoulders a bit to loosen them. "No, I was... medi_\- thinknig_... I'm f-"

"Fine. Yes, you've mentioned that before. I brought dinner, you really should eat some, you look a little... _odd_." Lyndon said. He grabbed a blanket off of the bed and wrapped himself up in it -it's not like there was anyone here to get prissy about his table manners- feeling much more comfortable right away. He sat himself down at the small dining table staring at the food in front of him with interest.

"_Odd?_" Jack repeated a little sharply, likely anticipating some sort of teasing remark.

"Well, tired." _Deeply troubled_, Lyndon wanted to say.

"...Oh." Jack appeared a little disappointed with himself, as if he were upset that Lyndon were able to tell. If Jack wasn't such utter _shit_ at keeping his moods under control, then perhaps Lyndon would have left him alone like he seemed to want so bloody much. It was his _own_ damn fault!

"It's stew from downstairs, pack beast and such." Lyndon said, indicating the food and taking a bite. "It's good!" He exclaimed, pleasantly surprised, looking back at Jack. "I have bread too. It's fresh, just baked! Come over here and _eat_!"

Jack said nothing and didn't move from the chair.

"You're_ sure_ you're alright now?" Lyndon wheedled, feeling much was still left unsaid.

"Must you ask so much?" Jack complained. "I said I was f-"

"Fine!" Lyndon mocked simultaneously, predicting Jack's answer with a roll of his eyes and a sarcastic wave of his hand.

The Demon Hunter fixed him with a withering glare.

"You _worry_ me sometimes." He sighed. "_Look_," Lyndon began evenly, "I'm getting a little tired of being cross with you, it's starting to require far too much effort, and for someone with an occupation as _unique_ as yours, it's rather spec_tac_ularly boring. You made such an argument against us coming here but haven't even said _why_. Now since you're so _pain_fully, _obv_iously _not _"fine," will you _please_ tell me what's got you so down at the mouth so we can go back to doing... _whatever_?" He asked earnestly. He really did want know why the Demon Hunter was upset, Lyndon wasn't used to this behavior from the man and it was throwing him for a loop.

Jack merely stared at him a moment, then spoke: "Its nothing. _Really._ Just drop it." He muttered irritably, looking away.

Lyndon sighed exaggeratedly. "_Fine_ then."

Lyndon stuffed a few more mouthfuls in, feeling better now that he wasn't so cold and hungry. "You should go to bed, you really do look tired." He said to Jack seriously after a few minutes.

"I thought you said I should _eat_ first?" Jack responded sourly. The thief shrugged at him, annoyed. _Barmy git!_ If he was going to throw his concern to the dogs, then Lyndon wasn't going to keep trying to be _nice_ to him!

Lyndon ignored him and Jack finally got up from the armchair, visibly shivering when he left the warmth of the fire. All their clothes were still wet, but if he was cold, he should put a bloody _blanket _on like Lyndon he wasn't going to suggest this to him however, because he was a bloody adult and could very well take care of _himself_.

Lyndon took another bite of stew and sighed in contentment as the food warmed his core. He was glad it was just as delicious as he'd hoped it would be. Jack sat at the table across from him and looked at their food. "Thank you Lyndon." he said softly, before beginning to eat slowly, then a little faster as he seemed to realize his hunger.

Finally some appreciation! "You're _very_ welcome. " Lyndon replied cheerfully, smiling at him, anger forgotten.

They both ate ravenously for several long minutes, neither of them speaking. It had been too long since they last ate something so good and filling. "Ah, wasn't this a good idea?" Lyndon said, breaking off a hunk of bread, using it to clean the leftover broth from his bowl. Jack said nothing, continuing to eat.

"I guess I'm not cross with you anymore." Lyndon reassured the Demon Hunter. It was difficult for him to stay in a bad mood or not think optimistically, despite the rotten things he had seen and experienced.

"Is that so?" Jack murmured absently, humoring him.

"Yes, it was very _boring_ talking to myself." Lyndon continued. "Though I will tell you I am _quite_ the conversationalist."

"Bored hm? Is that why you amused yourself downstairs by pickpocketing those poor villagers?" Jack accused harshly.

"Ah_ha_... Well, I _may_ have done a bit of browsing." Lyndon admitted sheepishly. Sometimes he forgot how sharp the other man could be. "And _Poor_ villagers? Hardly! I prefer to rob the _rich_. Weren't these "poor villagers" as you call them vehemently cursing your presence in the street not a handful of hours ago?" Lyndon added with a little laugh.

Jack seemed to be a bit amused by this, but the smirk faded quickly. "I can't leave you alone for a moment." He lectured.

Lyndon laughed, "Old habits, you know how it is."

"No, I really _don't_." Jack answered quickly with a distasteful expression on his face.

Lyndon pulled out the wine bottle and cracked it open, "Would you like a bit of wine?" He offered gently.

Jack gave him a _look_.

"What's _that_ face for? I _bought_ it this time!" The scoundrel exclaimed, offended.

The Demon Hunter eyed the bottle suspiciously as if it were a frothing rabid dog, eyes flicking from it to Lyndon's face and back.

"It's _wine_, not _poison _you paranoid maniac. A little won't kill you." The scoundrel drawled, mildly exasperated with him.

"...Just a little then." Jack conceded rather shyly, reaching for it, "Cheers." Lyndon said, "To better days." Jack nodded and took a swig out of the bottle, making a slight face at the taste before swallowing thickly.

Their disagreements finally out of the way, it was easy for them to slip back into the familiar back and forth they'd developed over the past months.

Lyndon struck up a conversation about the elemental arrows again and Jack patiently answered his questions. He thought he might have been doing alright with the cold ones, poison he was already good at, and fire didn't seem to be working quite as well as he'd hoped. They hadn't much discussed lightning, Jack seemed to think Lyndon might accidentally hurt himself, though he'd never said so _explicitly_. The talk started out warm enough in their usual topics but it quickly drifted cold again. Jack couldn't seem to shake himself from the black mood that was eating him. He spoke about Kormac's men's club in Westmarch and the evil he feared they might find there (bored, women starved Templars more like), the hunt for that miserable slag Adria, where Tyrael had gotten off to, and the fate of that dumb black _rock_. His thoughts were utterly dark and Lyndon wasn't sure how to help him beyond offering him wine over and over again, making sure he got the lion's share. It might help him sleep a little better at the very least. Maybe he wouldn't have any bad dreams. Jack didn't seem to be paying attention to how much he drank anyway, accepting the offer each time with the same shy hesitancy as the first.

It wasn't that Lyndon didn't _care_ about these things the hunter spoke of. Quite the _opposite_ actually, though no one would likely ever believe him. He just knew that it was unhealthy for one to dwell upon such unpleasant subjects for long periods of time without allowing oneself a break. It could really make a person depressed.

_Obviously_, as he could see by Jack's negative-Nancy attitude. Lyndon frowned and hunched deeper into the warmth of his blanket.

The Demon Hunter put away three fourths of the bottle seemingly without realizing it, while Lyndon worked to restrain himself, if only for the interesting experience of seeing the other man a little tipsy for once. Jack looked relaxed for the first time since they arrived, tense muscles loosening with the flow of alcohol. He looked even _more_ tired than he did before however, the drink lifting his veil of "fineness" away and exposing his sorry condition for proper scrutiny.

_Got you now you liar, you're exhausted, and you've never had a single drop of wine in your entire bloody life._ Lyndon thought triumphantly.

"Anyway, to answer your earlier question." Jack said rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly. "You can enchant the bola shots with lightning magic, making them explode on their targets, I'll... I'll teach you soon. Once you master enchanting the arrows. Its important to learn that first, lightning is... _unwieldy_."

"Ah, good." Lyndon replied, pleased, and greatly looking forward to adding more tricks to his arsenal. One could never be too prepared, and he liked being good at things. He liked being able to cover his own arse without someone hauling him out of danger by the collar every other minute. Perhaps this was why Jack offered to teach him in the first place, he was getting tired of running around after him.

"Your enchanting is going well, I should teach you how to use a knife or chakram as well. If you drop your crossbow or run out of arrows-" Jack began thoughtfully.

"I have lots of daggers for a reason you know, more than enough people know better than to pick a fight with _me_, and I've never _dropped_ my crossbow!" Lyndon interjected, offended.

"No, but it was taken from you that one time, by the soul ripper's tongue, it almost punched a hole through your chest." Jack lectured blandly.

"Yes well..." Lyndon muttered, embarrassed, and picking at the edges of his blanket distractedly. "I still didn't _drop_ it, it stole it from me!"

Jack very nearly smiled at that, "I think I've drunk too much, I almost laughed. You have daggers yes, and you use them well enough for _humans_, your aim is quite good with throwing them I've noticed, but, as you know, _demons_ are a different breed."

"Hmm." Lyndon replied, grinning. He felt pleased that he was able to make Jack forget himself and laugh. Well, _almost_ laugh, if only for the moment. And the compliments were nice, coming from someone as skilled as the Demon Hunter. Not that Lyndon would ever say so out loud.

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes.

"Lyndon?" Jack said suddenly, body tense again, and with a hint of what Lyndon _swore_ was desperation coloring his voice.

"What's the matter?" Lyndon asked, a little concerned by how he had said his name.

The hunter looked tired, his eyes were heavy and he was a little clumsy from the wine, but his body was wound tight as a bowstring. It seemed like he _desperately_ wanted to say something, but then thought better of it, staring intently out the dark, moisture splattered window. Stubborn _bastard._

"I'm... I'm going to turn in." Jack announced finally, eyes down on the table.

"I will too, in a moment." Lyndon responded, a little disappointed, talking with the Demon Hunter was like walking on eggshells sometimes. He remembered with a little bit of apprehension that they had to share the bed. Jack still hadn't mentioned their sleeping situation, he didn't seem to care at all, and if _he_ didn't, then Lyndon wouldn't let himself worry about it.

Jack stumbled to the bed, hand coming up to grasp the bedpost quickly to save his balance, he _obviously_ was not used to drinking, even though it really hadn't been all that much, his tolerance must have been _abysmal_.

"Careful there." Lyndon teased, greatly amused. He wondered what it would be like to get him _really_ smashed. Likely a laugh and a half!

The hunter shot him a sour look, then peeled the blankets back and curled up ungracefully into a tight ball in the bed, burrowing into the blankets with a soft sound. Jack watched Lyndon for a few minutes, eyes half closed and unfocused while the rogue played out a game of solitaire on the table, pretending not to notice. Eventually his eyes fell closed and he relaxed.

Lyndon glanced at him. Hm. Tired indeed. There had been less instances of nightmares in the dead of night, and Lyndon had thought that he had just been sleeping through them, or that Jack was suffering less of them. But now he was beginning to worry that the silly idiot hadn't even been sleeping at _all_. Pffha, it wasn't like Lyndon to worry so much about him, but he supposed he _had_ grown a bit fond of him over the past few months, bastard he was. Though he also supposed that he would grow fond of _anyone_ who had saved the world and then gifted him a bloody fortune on top of it. Lyndon was actually a little _surprised_ by the degree of trust the man had for him now. In the past he had guarded himself and his possessions from the thief fiercely, never sleeping in his presence or leaving his things unattended. He assumed Lyndon would try steal from him. Maybe back then he would have tried to, _had_ tried to in fact (with varying degrees of success) but now... not so much.

Lyndon waited a few minutes more, then put his cards back in their box, got up, and went to the door. He opened it soundlessly (hey, he could be quiet when he wanted to be), grateful for well-oiled hinges, and looked out into the dark hallway for a few moments. There was no one there, as he _expected_ but... still he waited. He could hear muffled noises from downstairs, clinking of glassware and the shuffling of chairs, the bell on the door jingling distantly as people exited. Things were starting to quiet down as patrons went home and travelers went to sleep. The hour was growing late, and while it was still early by Lyndon and Jack's definitions, most normal people were in bed by now. The hall upstairs was dead silent. He thought that perhaps he should have told Jack about the men he saw, but he didn't think of it at the time, and he certainly wasn't going to wake the hunter _now_ to tell him.

The stubborn bastard would probably wait up all night for them "just in case" and be even _more_ wretchedly tired and short tempered all day tomorrow. No _thank_ you.

The scoundrel suddenly realized with some small alarm, that he had _forgotten_ all about the girls he said he'd meet downstairs. He carefully thought over his options. He came to the startling conclusion that he would much rather go to bed than go back downstairs. Tempting as it was to have a little roll in the hay, (it had been too long) he decided that all he really wanted was to just roll into bed. He was cold and tired and _really_, if he thought about it, it was harder now than it was before to just have a tumble with any woman (or _otherwise_) who said yes to him. He had seen too much and the doe eyed ignorance of his bed partners ate at him.

Lyndon needed to look for something better than three poor drunk girls. _Someone_ better, someone who understood him, someone he could actually _talk_ to. He laughed a little to himself and quickly pushed such sappy romantic drivel out of his head, maybe he'd think on this again when Edlin was free... and Rea was no longer haunting his mind (if that would ever happen), but _now_ was certainly not the time to try to find the "right girl" for him. How _quaint_.

Besides, he wasn't really the marrying type.

Jack had told him once, that to witness demon slaughter was enough to leave your mind in ruins. He hadn't been kidding. _Everything_ was different now. He wondered what Jack was like years ago, before he became burdened by whatever tragedies had befallen him. He probably smiled a lot more. Sometimes Lyndon felt a bit _sorry_ for him.

Better than feeling sorry for _himself_ at any rate.

The thief closed the door and locked it securely, satisfied that no one would come calling on them tonight. He came back to the bed and saw that Jack had his twin crossbows hanging on the bedpost and had already fallen fast asleep, snoring just barely. Lyndon smiled and leaned his large crossbow up against the bed carefully, within easy reach in case anything _annoying_ happened. It was better to expect a disturbance and be prepared, than to be caught by surprise.

He couldn't deny he felt a little relief at seeing Jack asleep. That meant he was _alright_. Lyndon couldn't help but worry about him. Ever since he'd run himself into the ground and collapsed after Diablo's defeat, the scoundrel had started paying more attention to the man's health to make sure they avoided it ever happening again. It hadn't been a very nice time for anyone involved.

Lyndon snuffed out the extra candles on the mantle near the fireplace, the fire was dying down, casting flickering shadows over the warm orange glow in the room. He let it smolder, rather than put it out, enjoying the extra heat it cast. Lyndon came back to the bed and sat carefully, not wanting to wake the Demon Hunter who was normally a very cat-like sleeper. The scoundrel _desperately_ wanted to avoid being strangled. Jack barely stirred though, apparently out hard.

Thank the gods for _wine_.

Lyndon pulled the blankets up and laid down, the blanket he'd borrowed earlier cocooned around him. He felt warm and cozy laying there, listening to the rain falling outside and the hiss of the fire flickering in the fireplace. The quilts and furs were heavy, a comforting weight. He was still confident that forcing the hunter to come here was the best idea he'd had all month, he'd never felt so bloody _grateful_ to be out of the elements. Well, maybe that time when they were fighting at Bastion's Keep. That had been a _damn_ bitter wind.

And Jack was warm, there was a furnace-like heat seeping from his curled body. It was not so bad sleeping next to him as Lyndon first thought it would be, there was a good foot of space between them, plenty of room to be comfortable. It was _nice_, and there was a feeling of safety that came with being so close to someone who had brought all of Hell to its knees.

It didn't take Lyndon very long to drift off.

* * *

He was rudely awoken by a something hard colliding with the back of his thigh, hard enough to bruise. A knee? It couldn't have been very long after they had turned in, but Lyndon had no concept of the time. Jack had shifted violently in his sleep and was now groaning low into the pillow, hands clenching into fists in the blankets and twisting the fabric. His face was bathed in sweat and was contorted into a mask of pain and _fear_.

_Another_ nightmare then.

The hunter had them so frequently, almost nightly (until recently), that Lyndon was practically used to them now, but that didn't make seeing it happen any easier. A bit ashamed of them, Jack had told the thief not to try to wake him because he was afraid he would hurt him by accident in his disorientation. The Demon Hunter had also insisted that they were nothing to worry about and that he'd been managing them for most of his life. Rather than being reassured, the rogue found that to be terribly _sad_. The scoundrel sometimes wished that Jack would tell him what they were about, it might make them less frequent, but usually left the man to his privacy.

Though Lyndon supposed he was one to talk, he had wretched dreams sometimes too and didn't speak about them _either_. His most recent one involved the hulking flay demons, twisting in their chains, tortured for eternity. That memory alone was horrifying enough, but then they had worn his brother's _face_. He had awoken afterward, soaked in sweat and shaking, and even now, thinking about it made his heart pick up speed. Jack had been out in the woods at the time, so he did not know about the nightmare. The relief that Lyndon wasn't seen was not enough to curb the fear of waking up alone in the woods, or the horror of what he had dreamt. Weighed down with fear and guilt, he had been unable to fall back asleep until long after Jack had returned.

At least he did not have such dreams as _often_ as Jack did, otherwise he'd surely go mad. Akarat's _tits_, how did the hunter tolerate it?

Despite what Jack said, Lyndon found that it always worked out better for both of them if he woke him anyway, if he happened to be awake while Jack was dreaming. It spared the man some pain and enabled him to get back to sleep faster. Besides, Jack hadn't tried to kill him yet _so_ far.

Well, hadn't tried to kill him _often_. It was best to wake him _before_ the screaming started. Somewhat less common, but equally, if not more so unpleasant for anyone within earshot.

"Jack, wake up." Lyndon whispered tensely, placing a hand on his chest and shaking lightly. While they had slept they had moved much closer to each other, bodies touching, unconsciously seeking warmth. The hunter moaned, grimacing and twisting his fingers into the sheets while he turned his head to the side with a violent little shake.

"Jacky you're _dreaming_, wake up!" Lyndon said a little louder.

Jack opened his eyes with a gasp and a full body jerk, panting heavily. His eyes were flame warm in the dark and illuminated part of his face with the odd light that burned within them. He blinked at Lyndon, as though he didn't recognize him at first.

"Lyndon? Was I...?" He asked, a little disoriented.

"Yes, you were dreaming again." Lyndon said quietly, laying back down and dragging the blankets back over himself to banish the chill of the dark room. It was quiet for a few minutes, neither one of them speaking, and Lyndon wasn't sure if the Demon Hunter had fallen back asleep, but then he spoke again:

"I'm sorry I woke you." Jack whispered, the strange glow in his eyes gone now.

"Its alright, don't worry about it. Let's just... go back to _sleep_." Lyndon replied, feeling sluggish and tired. The Demon Hunter sighed and moved away from him, curling up tightly again.

Hmm.

"Unless, you... you don't want to _talk_ about it... do you?" The scoundrel asked hesitantly, trying to be nice. He felt bad for him, _truly_ he did.

It was quiet again for a few more moments, and Lyndon was afraid that he had made the taller man clam up as he often did when asked any sort of personal question that didn't directly involve his skill in killing Hellborn pests.

"_It was about Leah_." Jack said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Of course it would be Leah. Would they ever truly stop thinking about her? How could they? How could _he?_

"I had one a few weeks ago, in the woods, I woke up and you-" He sighed. "It had been about my _brother_." Lyndon confessed when Jack didn't say anything else. And he did feel slightly better for having told someone, even if he hadn't gone into the grisly details.

Neither of them offered anything more.

Jack was soon asleep again, breath deepening and evening out, much faster than Lyndon expected. Did he feel safe here? With four walls around him, rather than the open expanse of a dark field he claimed was so much safer? It was rare for the man to sleep through a night without waking and Lyndon pitied him. It had been worse when they were at Bastion's Keep, they had been fighting almost constantly for days and were only able to get a few hours of rest at a time. The hunter had gotten even less because of the dreams. Then he had stopped sleeping altogether and relied on health potions and sheer stubbornness to keep himself upright. They- he, Kormac, Eirena and the rest of their merry band- had been unaware of the man's terrible dreams for a long time, but they had become impossible for Jack to hide at the Keep.

When Diablo had been killed, _that_ was when the hunter had been unable to continue as he had been. He had finally come to the end of his impressive limits. He'd been so exhausted that he had fallen ill and slept for nearly two full days. Lyndon had been beside himself with worry, much to the smug _amusement_ of Eirena who had watched over the man's recovery.

He didn't understand why everyone had thought it was so odd that he cared about Jack. It was like everyone expected him to not give a tinker's damn about what had happened to him. Did he really come off as so uncaring? He could make friends too if he wanted. At least Eirena seemed to have changed her opinions of him. Kormac unfortunately _less_ so.

But Jack thought he was alright enough, didn't he?

Feeling slightly depressed and a little lonely, Lyndon eventually fell back to sleep.


	3. Blood on the Valley Floor

Much of the plot of the tale Jack tells is directly derived from the canon Demon Hunter backstory. One line is lifted directly from this story and slightly altered. I'm still unhappy with the dialogue but haven't had the time to fix it, but I'll post it here anyway. xD

* * *

_And the smoke lies on the valley floor,_  
_And the blood dries while we spill some more._  
―_Blood on the Valley Floor_, Soundgarden

* * *

The door burst open at the witching hour, flooding the dark room with noise.

"Fire! Kill them! _Kill them!_"

Lyndon flailed and struggled to untangle himself from the blankets. He couldn't see, it was pitch black in the room now that the fire had burnt out. His hands found the familiar wooden handle of his crossbow before he was even fully awake. An arrow whistled by his head, ruffling his hair. There was a blossom of heat and wetness there, but he barely registered it. There were more of the light whooshing sounds of arrows flying and the tell tale thumps of them striking the wall with the tinkling of shattered glass. A sudden sound behind him made his blood crystallize and his spine tingle, it sounded like a beast had been hurt, a wretched howl. He couldn't look back if he wanted to, all his focus was involved in aiming at the shadowy shapes in the doorway. He had barely lifted and aimed the heavy weapon when Jack began to fire.

The single hand-crossbow jutted just past Lyndon's head and the scoundrel turned to look at him and froze as Jack's arm came down on his shoulder to steady his aim. The hunter snarled like an animal, teeth bared and eyes blazing like hot coals in the dark.

"_Bleed you filth!_" He spat viciously.

Lyndon paled, there was more than just a well of hatred for demonkind that emanated from the hunter this time, it was more than just a lust for battle. Jack looked like he had finally come unhinged. From the curve of his left deltoid protruded an arrow that had sunk deep into the muscle tissue and bled, black as ink. It was the Demon Hunter who had been struck. Dark shadows swelled and poured from his shoulder blades like the vaporous mist produced by dry ice when submerged in water. They spread like the wispy glowing tendrils of angel wings, but devoid of light and far more sinister. No longer did he even resemble the man Lyndon had grown to call friend, he looked like a demon from the deepest pits of Hell itself that had finally decided to cast off its flimsy mortal guise, revealing its true form, and _dear_ _Gods, is that what he'd been sleeping next to?_

There were five men firing volleys of arrows at them from the doorway, desperate to kill them. Three were annihilated near instantaneously when Jack fired, humans had little to no physical defense against such powerfully enchanted arrows. The hallway wall where the men had stood was evenly coated in a spray of blood and bone fragments. At least fifty arrows had been imbedded in the wall behind where the unfortunate men had been standing, creating deep cracks and scorch marks of black magic among the wash of gore.

As Lyndon became less disoriented and more awake, he realized just what was going on. He recognized some of the same men he had seen downstairs in the tavern earlier that evening. The unsavory ones that had been watching him. Even though they were trying to _kill_ them, the wild desperation in their shots told him that they were unskilled and were probably no better than farmers or local craftsmen.

And... and Jack was his friend. His friend that he'd teased not a week before for eating around the crust of his meager sandwich before eating the middle, and they'd traveled together for months and shared food and arrows every day and _he couldn't just let him kill like this-_

Fear made him hesitate, but he reached out anyway, "Stop, stop, Jack, they're just villagers! We _can't_!" At his touch, the Demon Hunter's arm seized as though it were part of some great failing machine, a wrench thrown into the works, and the Hunter was drawn back from the depths of his hatred, shuddering from the sudden transition from rage-haze to self awareness. The arrows stopped, but the shadows remained and Jack blinked his candle eyes rapidly in the gloom.

Lyndon stared at him stupidly before he remembered and aimed his crossbow at the doorway again. The only reason the two remaining men were still alive was because they had hastily dropped to the floor to avoid becoming human quivers. Jack had been so busy destroying the first three that he simply didn't notice them. In all the confusion, Lyndon never even got a chance to loose even a single arrow.

When Jack had stopped firing the two survivors scrambled to drop their weapons and hold up their hands in surrender.

"P-please don't shoot! Oh _please_!" A rather mousy looking man said, looking horrified at the carnage. A farmer then, or maybe a baker, _or a candlestick maker_, Lyndon thought madly.

"David said your kind were m-murderers! "L-look what you've done!" The other man said, knees shaking, even as he pointed an accusing finger.

"Look what _we've_ done?!" Lyndon balked, suddenly beyond furious, "What about what _you've_ done you stupid git?! We were sleeping when you kicked in the damned door and attacked us!" Lyndon shouted back, crossbow tight in his grip, his fingers straining toward the release mechanism. "We've done _nothing_!"

Jack breathed out, crossbow slipping from nerveless fingers and he brought a hand up to his bleeding shoulder, dragged air through his teeth, then took several hard breaths through his nose. "Gods, we should have just slept in a field." He murmured. He closed his eyes and opened them again, fixing his burning gaze upon the men. "Why did you attack us?" He grit out tiredly. Lyndon felt that they both already knew the answer to that.

"D-David said that...you were Demon hunters and that you w-were going to slaughter the town!" The mousy man tentatively tried to explain without wetting himself. It seemed he only half succeeded.

"This _David_ you keep mentioning? He sounds like a right idiot to me." Lyndon said quickly, aim unwavering. "As you can see the town still stands."

"He's dead now." The other dark haired man half whispered, staring at the blood pooling on the floor.

"My point precisely, if you think someone is a _Demon Hunter_, it's probably best to _not_ attack them and their traveling companion. Demon hunters hunt _demons_, not townsfolk you damned fool."

"But-"

"He's the one who saved Tristram from King Leoric. Perhaps you've heard of him? Big bloke, few cards short of a full deck, commanded the undead _skeleton army_ of Khanduras?!" Lyndon hissed. Some people could be so damned ungrateful. "It was a demon hunter named Jack who saved that town, THIS Demon Hunter, and if it wasn't for THIS Demon Hunter your _charming_ little town very probably, would not still exist."

"Lyndon-" Jack tried to interrupt. The hunter never bragged, but some situations benefited from the revelation of truths. Lyndon considered the fact that Jack had, among other things, near single handedly saved their world and the High Heavens from absolute destruction, but it was probably best to keep those stories to themselves. It was better, he thought, that most common folk were not made aware of how close they had come to being wiped off the world.

"You killed the skeleton king?" The braver man asked Jack, his voice tight with awed disbelief.

The hunter nodded slightly. Lyndon was a little upset that Jack was not backing him up, but something was clearly wrong with him. Well, something _aside_ from the arrow sticking out of his arm.

"I-I'm, I'm _sorry_ my Lord!" The mousy looking man stuttered, "Aye!" The other shouted quickly. "We didn't know! You're a _hero_ in these parts!" The two men practically fell on their faces in their haste to grovel and bow before them. "We're sorry!"

Jack turned away and closed his eyes in pained disgust at the sight. "I am neither a Lord nor a hero, please leave us in peace, we are leaving on the morrow and will trouble your town no longer." Jack said quietly. "If you're going to be sorry, be sorry for the men who died tonight because of a... _misunderstanding_." He finished, lip curling in distaste.

_Is it so wrong to think of yourself as a hero?_ Lyndon thought. The scoundrel could think of none better to fit the definition.

The two men got to their feet and left hastily, apologetic and shaking. There were no bodies to remove but there was a rather wretched mess left to clean up, and though it was a nasty thought, Lyndon was very grateful that most of the gore was in the hallway so that they could at least go back to sleep in a relatively corpse free room. Jack was not speaking to him and looked rather upset. Lyndon was alright with this for the time being and left him to tend to his shoulder, still a little shaken by his ferocity.

Just another day as an adventurer! What _fun_, he thought sarcastically.

He waited until the men were gone before he jumped up to shut the door. He poked his head out curiously and spotted the Innkeeper standing white faced at the end of the now candle-lit hallway. Lyndon offered him a wave and a weak grin, "Sorry!" he said quickly and pulled the broken door shut. Thinking quickly, he shoved their small dining table against the door to hold it closed as the lock and indeed part of the frame had been smashed to splinters in the initial kick of forced entry. He then shoved the fireplace wing chair there too for good measure. Sodding bastards wouldn't be coming back in, he'd make certain of_ that_. The candles above the fireplace were lit with only a little difficulty, his hands shaky with nerves, and then he could see much better.

He groaned slightly as the candles illuminated the room, the place was a _mess_. There were arrows stuck everywhere! "Damn it to Hell!" he hissed, there were arrows in their clothes! Much of the hanging fabric was torn, they'd have to buy a few new things, or do some heavy duty repairs. He was terrible at sewing and often asked Eirena (who did it gladly) or Jack (which required _a lot_ of begging and damage to the hunter's own clothes before it was even considered) to do it for him. He absently touched Jack's black cloak to pull a hanging arrow free, then yelped when a small bat flew out of a hidden pocket and hid itself in the window curtain. He gripped his chest, heart racing, an "I don't even _want_ to know." leaving his mouth breathlessly as he shook his head. Of course he would have a _bat_ now. Ravens and bats, weasels! He'd even had a spider briefly, adopted from the Caves of Aranaea, but after he had learned of Kormac's fear of them he had (reluctantly) let it go. Lyndon had not seen the two furry weasel things he had purchased in Lut Gholein for some time, he hoped they had not made a nest in his bag again. He was genuinely surprised the man didn't have fleas with all the beasts he kept around.

Lyndon felt a cold draft, the glass in three window panes was shattered, letting in frigid air. He stuffed a damp shirt in the hole to keep out the cold and- Jack had not moved and his entire arm was red with blood. Lyndon cursed under his breath and went to him.

Jack was staring at the blood congealing on the floor, off in his own head somewhere. Lyndon stared, beyond concerned for him. _Damn it_, he didn't know what to do in situations like this! At the _very_ least Jack should have known better than to let that arrow stay there! It could be poisoned or rusty, or coated in any number of foul substances. Stupid stubborn bastard!

"What is the matter with you!?" Lyndon very nearly shouted at him, "Did you forget the bloody arrow in your- Gods... you're _shaking_!" Small tremors shook the hunter every few moments, everything about it screamed _wrong_. Jack didn't respond and sat there on the bed, tense and still. Black smoke still spilled from his shoulders and Lyndon recognized it as a reaction to pain. His eyes were bright and burning in his head. Was it shock? Blood loss? No, no... he'd seen him refuse to succumb with far worse injuries.

But he could not shake the sensation of wrongness about the whole thing. Something was_ not_ right here.

Lyndon slowly sat down on the bed, unsure of what to do. Acting with little thought, He reached for his shoulders, almost afraid to touch him because of the dark shadows spilling forth. His hands came down as gently as he could make them. The shadows didn't hurt like he thought they might, but instead felt terribly cold, like the frozen wind that feathered through the walls of Bastion's Keep.

Jack jumped when he touched him, causing Lyndon to jump as well. "H-here, its alright, what is the matter?" Lyndon asked quietly. "Doesn't this hurt?" His hand strayed toward the arrow.

"_Get it out._" Jack whispered, as though suddenly becoming aware of the arrow embedded in him.

"What? Oh... alright, just- a moment..." Lyndon murmured. At the angle it had pierced, it was difficult for Jack to reach the arrow successfully by himself, but at the very least he could ask a little more _politely_. Lyndon wrapped his hand around the thick shaft of wood, bracing his other hand on the man's skin. The muscles were hard as wrought iron from use of the bow and taught with pain. And Lyndon was wondering how to get this out without making it worse. He was no healer and by _Akarat_ it was in there deep, it might even have been touching bone.

"Fast." Jack breathed.

"Don't be a damned fool!" Lyndon snapped at him. Gods, did he _want_ it to hurt? Jack stared holes in the floor and Lyndon grit his teeth, pulling experimentally. The hunter made not a sound. It was in there deep all right, he had to pull it out carefully or it would only tear the muscle more, Jack's ridiculous impatience be damned.

The wood was slippery, slick with blood and it took him a few minutes to get the arrow out. He did the best he could and throughout the process Jack said nothing, didn't react, there was not even a gasp of pain, but he had briefly closed his eyes before opening them again when Lyndon finally managed to pull the damned thing free of him. It was good that the tip was not barbed or he would have had to slice it out with a blade.

More blood welled up alarmingly and poured out of the wound, the sharp odor of it like new coppers, filling his nostrils and curling in the back of his throat. Exasperated with Jack's sudden lack of interest in his own well being, Lyndon grabbed the man's other arm and forced his hand over the bleeding hole while he looked for something to wrap it with.

He angrily pawed through their bags and found some strips of cloth they reserved for bandages, just in case. He grabbed the lot and the pitcher of water on the bedside table.

Furious, Lyndon rounded on Jack for the second time, grabbing his injured arm perhaps a little more roughly then he meant to. "Do you want to bleed out all over the place?! Don't you care about yourself?!" Lyndon asked angrily. Jack still did not answer him, and merely let the thief do whatever he wanted. Furious, Lyndon held the man's arm out over the floor to avoid messing the bed and poured water over it, rinsing the blood away. Not like a little extra blood in the boards would matter right? They were already painted. He soaked some fabric in water and washed the wound quickly before binding it firmly. He hoped it was enough, because this was the extent of his healing knowledge. One good reason to miss that idiot Templar he supposed.

"Why won't you say anything?" Lyndon finally asked, at a loss, frustration and worry swirling thick inside him.

"You're afraid of me." The hunter stated quietly. Lyndon blinked hard, he _had_ been afraid, but it had only been for a moment.

"No. I'm afraid _for _you." The thief retorted.

Jack looked away and at the bloodied floor.

"Jacky, what_ is_ it?" Lyndon pleaded quietly.

Jack blinked slowly at the use of his least favorite nickname. "I've become her." The hunter finally murmured.

"You've- What?" Lyndon said, terribly confused.

"The Demon Hunter who murdered this town a year ago, I-I've become her." He was still trembling every few moments and Lyndon finally reached out to him, placing a careful hand upon his uninjured shoulder. _To steady him_, he told himself. The hunter tensed, but didn't try to shrug him off, which was concerning in and of itself.

"Jack, what are you talking about? Who murdered the town?" Lyndon asked quietly.

Jack closed his glowing eyes for a moment, appearing to gather himself. He swallowed, blinking rapidly.

"Before I came to Tristram, I was the best recruit the Demon Hunters had ever seen." Lyndon noted that he said this with no trace of pride, it was stated as merely a fact. "As part of my "graduation" test. I was given a mission to kill a demon, Draxiel, residing in some ruins located in the southern Dreadlands. My partner and guide was a more experienced hunter named Valla." Jack explained quietly. He had never spoken of his life before coming to Tristram, though he had asked Lyndon many times about his and the lives of their friends. Lyndon eagerly digested this new information.

"She was another favorite among our ranks. She and I... didn't get along. She was _abrasive_ and tended to act rashly. Even though our training was not a competition, she hated me for being the best at the techniques we were taught." He continued. Lyndon listened with rapt attention, wondering where this was going.

"When we were in the ruins... I... succumbed to the demon's influence and attempted to attack her." He murmured with some shame. "What I didn't know at that time, was that the demon had tricked me and had taken her form. I was nearly killed but I was saved by my mentor Josen and the _real_ Valla." Jack said, shuddering at the memory.

"The whole thing had been a test, set up by Josen and I had _failed_." He growled with some hint of lingering anger, "After that, I began to study with Josen personally to overcome my weaknesses. He said... that I was a _special_ case among them, and he wanted to help me. It wasn't long after that, that we heard that Valla had succumbed to her hatred and the influence of a foul demon."

"After, we learned of Valla's corruption. I was forbidden to interfere because Josen told me I was not ready, but I insisted and accompanied him anyway." Jack continued. Lyndon smiled. It was very much like him to ignore the advice of others. "We saw what she had done to Holbrook. Just being here... all I can see are the _dead._"

Lyndon swallowed, feeling his gut twist. Why hadn't Jack said something? Lyndon wouldn't have made him stop here if he had only _known_.

"Josen went to Bramwell, expecting to find her there. I was sent to Havenwood where she was rumored to have passed through. When I got there, children were possessed by some demon and were murdering their own families, and after, the townsfolk." Lyndon grimaced, imagining the horror of that sight. His fingers trailed down the hunter's arm and came to rest at his elbow.

"I had to subdue them, but I managed to not have to kill any." The hunter explained.

"That's why that man said "Remember Havenwood?" Lyndon interrupted suddenly, "But what happened after?"

"I learned that there was a river that ran beneath the town through a network of caves, I guessed that this was likely where the demon responsible for Valla's corruption was hiding. She had fallen so far, that her very _presence_ spread evil." Jack said. "The demon had finished with her apparently and had turned his sights on the town, while she moved on to Bramwell to slaughter all she came across. I left to find the demon, not waiting for my mentor. I nearly drowned trying to enter the underground channel." Jack uttered, twisting his fingers into the blanket in his lap at the memory.

"It-" He began again, breath deepening and coming a little faster.

"It... used the memories I had against me, of my village being slaughtered, burning, my mother, my _family_... everything I had lost." Jack grit out, rage and pain emanating from him.

Lyndon was silent and listening with an acuteness as if Jack were telling him where to dig up a mountain of gold. The scoundrel had always burned with curiosity to know more. He wasn't sure what he expected but he knew it couldn't be _good_ based on Jack's personality, but even still, he wasn't expecting this... _horror_.

The sad circumstances of his own life paled in comparison.

"It almost... _took_ me, but I looked back into its mind. The most dangerous thing a Demon Hunter can do." He hissed. "I learned that he was really Valdraxxis, once an important demon in Hell, but led a failed campaign and was cast out to our realm." Jack growled, "I looked into him and saw, as he had done to me and only then was I able to strike him down." Jack had stopped shaking now, but still seemed distraught. Lyndon was in awe, he had seen the man's incredible fighting abilities, but had only seen fleeting glimpses of the powers gifted to him by his Nephalem ancestry, and when he witnessed them, they were frightening. He had no idea that the Demon Hunters had developed such a dangerous ability. But if anyone could master such a dangerous skill, it would be Jack.

"Then you won then, didn't you? You saved Havenwood and its people and they were grateful to you were they not?" Lyndon asked quietly.

"Yes, but I was not there soon enough to save them from the pain of murdered families. I think... that it was _my_ fault that Valla fell to corruption." Jack murmured.

"What!? How could that possibly be your fault?" Lyndon exclaimed, confused by the hunter's willingness to take the blame for so much death.

"I think... the reason she left us, the reason she had so much hate, was because _I _was chosen over her to study with Josen. She had wanted it so badly, had even succeeded in the test where I had failed, but I was chosen anyway. She was angry and her anger made her vulnerable. _Hate begets terror and terror begets destruction as destruction begets hate_." Jack recited cryptically. "Every demon hunter is taught this, the law of The Three. The _Prime_ evil."

"I did not notice her hate, so wrapped up as I was in my own failings and angers." The hunter continued. "I did not see that she had succumbed, I did not _look_ into her and because of this I did not save _this_ town, or Bramwell, or prevent the tragedies in Havenwood, and those that remained to rebuild, look upon me and all Demon Hunters with fear and hatred." Jack finished darkly. He pulled his arm away from Lyndon and cradled his wounded shoulder as if it had only just then begun to hurt.

"You've told us before not to grieve over what you could not know or control. 'What's done is done,' you've said! Why are you no longer following your own advice?!" Lyndon asked anxiously.

"I can't escape this, this war will never end for me." Jack responded, as if he hadn't heard him.

"Don't be absurd, you _stopped_ the war, you saved the whole _world_! I know, because I was there, remember?" Lyndon stated, frustrated by the pain that made Jack unable to see reason. There was something else he was holding back.

"Don't you understand? It doesn't matter what I've done, kill demon lords, save villages, _worlds_. None of that matters to them, they will always look at me as if I am a monster. Demon Hunters are seen as an omen of death. I must get used to this. I can have _no_ attachments." Jack said with quiet pain.

"Jack you're not-" Lyndon interjected.

"I am. I _know_ that now. How can I continue to help anyone if I am... cursed with this _taint_? This... demonic blood of my ancestors? I am no better than they are, I could lose control. With every demon I come into contact with, the risk increases. You _saw_, you saw what I did!" Jack hissed and held his firing arm against his chest tightly as if it had betrayed him.

"You are the _best_ person I know, the finest warrior to walk this miserable ball of dirt and more noble than I can tolerate. It does not matter what they think! Ignorant, blind _villagers_! You will _never_ go down that path, you're much too good for that. It-It wasn't your fault, they attacked _us _and we reacted_. _There was nothing different to be done! Sometimes there is no choice." He argued anxiously.

"Why do you care so much? About what people think?" Lyndon pressed.

"Not people. Kormac... Eirena. _You_." Jack murmured. Lyndon blinked in disbelief.

_Oh_...

"It is said that when a demon peers into you, Lyndon, into the deepest recesses of your mind, then you may peer back if you know how. And then you will see only vengeance. Only the hunt. And your eyes will burn with its obsession. I have done this, _more_ than once. I did it with every demon lord I slew." Jack revealed.

Lyndon did not respond, he knew how Jack's eyes burned.

"I didn't even think before I shot them." Jack murmured with quiet despair. "I'm _losing_ myself." He brought his hands up to his face and buried them in his hair.

"Stop it now, you were _asleep_! I barely knew what was going on because I'd just woken up as well! I could have died you know, an arrow went right by my head. You basically saved my life... _again_." Lyndon said gently, resting a hand on the man's back. He had to do _something_ to calm him. Jack seemed like he might be going round the bend.

"Yes, you're bleeding." Jack said quietly. Lyndon raised a hand to the side of his head where he felt the arrow fly by. His fingers came away bloody and he wiped at the cut with the wet cloth he had left in his lap.

"It's fine, it doesn't even hurt." He said absently.

"What if it had been different Lyndon, and it was you who had thrown open the door and startled me awake? You'd be dead now because of my carelessness." Jack whispered, barely audible.

"I think you're forgetting how I _usually_ enter a room." Lyndon chided, attempting to be humorous. "Normally I don't kick the door in and fire an arrow into your arm!" He said with a weak laugh. Jack did not smile.

"I became too comfortable and it made me weak. I shouldn't have drunk anything... I shouldn't have eaten so much. Distractions like that, they take away control!"

"What? By _sleeping_? _Eating_? Having a little _wine_? Jack that's simply absurd... it's unfortunate that those men died, but we both attacked in self defense. You can't just give up every little thing on just the chance that something could happen! You have to live your gods-damned life! We've killed people, innocents have died, yes, but you've... you've never been _like_ this before!" Lyndon fretted.

"What are you not telling me?" Lyndon asked with quiet desperation.

Jack looked away then, jaw clenched tight.

"Please tell me, I can't help if I don't know the situation." Lyndon begged, unknowingly repeating the very same words Jack had said to him when he'd been reluctant to talk about his brother.

"The demon... under Havenwood." The hunter began hesitantly, as if attempting to speak in a poorly learned foreign language. "It took the form of my sister." Jack finally ground out.

"Y-your..._sister_? Lyndon replied, barely more than a whisper. He immediately felt his gut twist with guilt for having asked him about sisters, lovers or female companions so many times. Gods what an _ass_ he'd been.

"My younger sister and I, we had escaped from the burning of our village when the demons came, we ran deep into the woods, I remember holding her hand so tightly as we ran." Jack breathed, beginning to tremble again. "I was 14 summers then, she was 8. We lived out in the wilderness for weeks, living off the land, we had nowhere else to go, but it was hard for her. It was hard for both of us but it was harder for her, she was so _young_." Jack whispered, breathing too shallowly.

_So were you_, Lyndon thought wretchedly.

"It's alright, breathe." Lyndon said, feeling himself panicking in his lack of direction for how to act. He was struggling to figure out how to help this man, a person he was beginning to realize he barely knew, even after spending _months_ with him. He grasped the hunter's hand tightly, offering him a physical anchor.

Jack sucked in a breath. "We both had nightmares, we saw our family murdered over and over again in our dreams, But one night, she could not take it any longer, she ran out into a storm and... I chased after her, trying to get her to come back." Jack whispered, agonizing over the tale. "She thought I was a demon and wouldn't _stop_, she slipped and fell at the edge of a rushing river and I grabbed her hand. I said I wouldn't let go but it was raining so much and our hands were wet." Jack's voice cracked and he turned away from Lyndon.

Lyndon held his hand tightly, almost bruisingly strong, he loosened his hold when he realized what he was doing.

"My fingers were so cold I couldn't tighten my grip. She slipped away from me. Then I had tricked myself into believing that she was alive and living somewhere else, somewhere _safe_. This is what the demon saw within me, this memory I had repressed. This is what Valdraxxis used to nearly destroy me." Jack said, Lyndon sat in stunned silence, staring at the hunter with shock written clearly on his face. "That _town_. The river below. All I can think of is her."

"Then Leah. Gods, how I failed her." Jack said brokenly. "She reminded me so much of my sister, her spirit, her smile. I didn't see what her mother was until it was far too late. I should have _looked_ into her, but like a fool I trusted her... and now Leah is gone."

"None of us knew who she really was. You could not have known such a thing, she had been planning this for _years_." Lyndon offered quietly.

"Couldn't I have? Zultan Kulle tried to warn me, but I ignored him as well. Sometimes I wonder if killing him had even been _right_." Jack said miserably.

"Well, he may have been right about_ Adria_, but he was a dusty, dried up old wizard who wanted nothing more than the _world_ beneath his boot heel. What would he have done if left alone hm? Been the next threat? I think you were right to kill him." The thief argued.

"Perhaps." Jack conceded."But I can't help feeling it was Adria's design that he was killed. Leah was _so like_ my sister, and I failed them both." He whispered. "Any Inn we stay at it, is just a reminder of the dream she'll never get to fulfill."

"It's no one's fault but Adria's. She'll pay for what she's done." Lyndon replied quickly, then they both went quiet for a time.

Jack had been bottling this up for a long while. His mind was rotting with his perceived failures. This was eating at him worse than anything ever had and he was close to his breaking point. Jack hid it well, but he was _very_ damaged. His mental state was deteriorating as his powers grew stronger and stronger. Not a very good combination at all. He was living to kill Adria and get revenge for Leah and beyond that he saw little else. Jack _needed_ to keep killing creatures of Hell to atone for things he thought were his fault. He needed to do this to keep his very sanity. If he stopped, if the battles _ever_ ended, he'd fall apart, go mad or both. He looked more and more terrifying every time he fought, more demonic and vicious. Gods, he'd be sprouting horns and wings next.

Jack needed a break, he needed to not _think_ for a while and calm his mind. Lyndon was trying his best, but he wasn't sure how to help him.

"I cannot... allow myself to care for anyone, lest they be taken from me and used as a weapon against my mind by the demons. I don't know if I can survive that again. I don't know if I am strong enough." Jack's voice broke and he pressed the heels of his palms hard against his eyes and trembled.

"Jack." Lyndon murmured, stroking lightly at his shoulders, unsure of what else to do. Jack let him, which went a long way with helping Lyndon feel better, even if Jack was still pained. How long had it been since someone had offered him a comforting touch? How long since he had last _allowed_ himself to be comforted? _Years_?

The hunter did not cry, Lyndon wasn't sure if he even _could_ anymore, he only breathed in and out purposefully. When he finally put his hands down, his eyes were damp but they weren't glowing any longer. He looked as tired as he did the day Diablo was defeated.

"H-Halissa... her n-name was Halissa. It was m-_my_ fault, if only I'd-" Jack began again, his voice trembling.

"Shhhh, enough. It wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault." Lyndon said softly, continuing the light touch. He wasn't good at this sort of thing, he didn't know how to comfort people. Lyndon tried to go with his gut and do what felt right, what felt like _helping_.

They sat there for some time, Lyndon trying to be a comforting presence while Jack struggled to hold himself together.

"Um, Jack..." Lyndon began, wondering if this was what he should be saying. "You- you can't go your whole life avoiding people, not getting attached. It's a lonely existence, believe me I _know_." Lyndon explained gently. "What about Eirena and Kormac? They're your friends aren't they? Haedrig and Shen... And you and I? You asked me to come with you after Diablo and the Prime or whatnot was killed. You taught me about weapon enchantment, tolerated my chatter, trusted me enough to_ tell_ me all this. Why? If you wanted to be alone so badly?" Lyndon asked hesitantly, afraid to upset the hunter even more.

"Because I am weak." Jack admitted quietly, still as stone.

"Its not _weak_. Its human, Jack." Lyndon argued. "Its human nature to want to be with other people, not a _weakness_ to be pushed away."

"I'm _not_ human." Jack growled, pulling away from the scoundrel. "I'm practically a demon. People that spend time with me tend to get killed." Jack said bitterly.

"You forget that Tyrael said that Nephalem are born of both angels and demons, that's why you have both good and evil, why humans have both good and evil." Lyndon argued. "You're as human as I, though a decidedly more _talented_ one. And besides, _I'm_ still here, you haven't let me die yet!" He laughed weakly.

"I thinks its clear which ancestor I take after more." Jack replied tiredly, getting worn down from their talk. "If I lose control, you could die. A lot of people could die." Jack stated.

"I don't want you to die." He admitted. The quiet fear in his voice took Lyndon by surprise. "Sometimes when I'm killing them, I feel like I'm going _insane_." The hunter confessed. "I feel like I can't control what I'm doing."

"You said that your eyes burn because the demon's make you live for vengeance, but if you can live for something... _other_ than that hate, don't you think that you'll have control again? Don't you think living for something else will make you stronger? If you drown yourself in one thing, there's no _balance_. No _discipline_ as you're so fond of saying. You don't have to keep going this. Let us be friends to you." The scoundrel offered. "We can help you, I just know it."

Jack looked at him silently, surprise on his tired face.

"I know I don't appear to be very _serious_ at times. Well, most of the time." Lyndon began, "When the woman I loved went to my brother instead, I knew that it wasn't his fault, but I refused to let anyone else in after that. I pushed him away, even though he was my brother, my only_ family_." Lyndon admitted. This seemed like the right thing to say, it might help Jack realize that he was serious about wanting to help him.

"I didn't know what to feel about what had happened to him. If I hadn't been so careless... I became selfish after, I closed myself off, stopped caring. I used people so they wouldn't use me first. I mean... I was always a little on the _bad_ side, but for a long time I thought I was rotten to the core." Lyndon said, wiping at the cut on his head again.

"I thought that helping you slay the demon lords would make me a good person again, but you told me that I was a good person already. I thought you were just trying to make me feel better in case I didn't make it, but...I realized you were _right_, and I had just buried it so deeply I couldn't see it. Didn't want to see it. It was easier to pretend I didn't _care_." Lyndon whispered.

"I realized... that its alright to feel something and let other people help. It made me feel better...when you asked me about my brother and my life. I know I was angry at first... but I felt _better_ after I told you." He finished quietly. "It's alright to give a damn."

Jack just stared at him in quiet disbelief, blanket pooled around his legs. He blinked softly and glanced down, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a weak smirk. "Sometimes you still surprise me Lyndon." He murmured softly.

"Well, you can be a bit thick sometimes." Lyndon laughed, relieved, it felt _good_ to laugh. He looked at the tired hunter warmly, taking in his features. He still looked like a bit of a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them, face pale and a bit bloodied. But Jack was smiling slightly, a rather _fetching_ expression on him. He should smile more often. He was looking much better, and dare he say, more together than he had all night.

"I'm surprised you can tolerate me, you and Kormac, Eirena, Haedrig... _Shen_. You should hate and _fear_ me, what I could _become_." Jack admitted worriedly.

"Don't say such nonsense, they say so many nice things about you when you're not around, its enough to make me sick." Lyndon laughed. "I like you very much. And besides, there are worse people around, a thieving rat like me for instance, Haha! _I _should be asking how you lot can tolerate _me_!"

The hunter looked away uncertainly and squeezed his injured arm, looking a bit pale. The smile was gone now.

Lyndon gazed at him, wondering why Jack thought himself so worthless and unworthy of love. He was a good person. Very noble. Not bad looking either, strong, loved animals and was _mysterious _or some such drivel. Traits that would have women falling over themselves to get at him, if only he would _allow_ it. Lyndon could only claim charm and good looks. If only he could _show_ the Demon Hunter how valuable he was, show him that he could be more than just a living weapon. He could have a_ life_ beyond this endless fighting and experience all the joys that came with the mortal world. Lyndon theorized that Jack hadn't really lived since he was 14 all those years ago, his chance at happiness having been cruelly ripped away from him.

That was a long time to be alone. Perhaps if Lyndon-

He had a sudden though. A _mad_ thought.

He decided to do something then that might have been a little stupid.

"How's this for a surprise?" Lyndon rumbled, then leaned in and gently captured the Demon Hunter's mouth with his own.

Well, maybe a _lot_ stupid.


	4. Cloak of Feathers

This chapter has undergone some revisions since it was first put up on AO3

* * *

_Beneath her cloak of feathers_  
_lies a body soft and fine_  
_eyes of hazel green_  
_flowing hair as dark as wine._

―_Cloak of Feathers_, The Sword

* * *

There was little left of the small village when the Demon Hunters arrived, the renegade pack of demons had come some weeks before and left a smoking, blackened collection of ruins and rotting death in their wake. Nothing they had not seen many times before, but it was always hard when they arrived too late. While they were saddened by the deaths of so many innocents, they felt it would be useful to investigate and determine where the demons might have gone.

The thought that anyone might have _survived_ such a slaughter did not even occur to them.

That is why they had been so surprised to find the boy.

He had lain limply in the center of town, sprawled before three burial crosses that towered over him, casting their long, crooked shadows over the dirtied cobblestone. At first glance, they assumed him dead, he lay so quiet and still, but strangely, he was untouched by decay or carrion birds. If he had died in the attack, he would have been picked apart long ago. When one of Josen's officers touched him, the boy had jumped up and attacked him. He had snarled and bit and kicked with such ferocity that it took three strong hunters to wrestle the child into submission. He was so maddened by grief that he could not be calmed for some time, yet there had been no fear in his eyes.

Just hate and despair.

Where the others saw a broken soul too far gone, a lost cause, the leader of the Demon Hunters saw great potential.

Hours later, Josen regarded the boy steadily, Jack, his name was. He was wrapped in a cloak, seated before him, looking much different, _better_ now that he had been fed and washed. Less beyond hope and more the young man he would grow into. Josen's tent had been carefully erected and a small camp had been made in the ruined town. The other hunters itched to move on, but respected their leader's wishes. They had learned from tracks they had found and Jack's halted speech when questioned, that he and his sister had survived the initial attack and fled into the forest where they had lived for some weeks, until the sister (younger than the boy, he assumed) had perished. Jack had apparently taken her body back to town and buried her, along with what he could find that remained of his parents.

A grim task for one so young. The poor boy appeared to have already given up, he had lain in the center of town before the graves of his family, waiting for death.

"How did your sister die?" Josen asked him gently.

Jack stared at him, or rather through him, for some moments before speaking. "Is this a test?" The boy asked him, stone faced. Josen smiled. The boy was sharp, he liked that. "Everything is a test, even life itself." He replied. Jack went quiet, then spoke again. "She awoke in the night during a storm and ran from me, thinking that I was a demon. She fell into the river and drowned." He answered hollowly.

Josen nodded, more as a confirmation to himself than in acknowledgment of what Jack had told him.

"I have a proposition for you my boy." He began seriously.

"I am the leader of an _order_ of sorts who's base lies far to the north in the Dreadlands. We recruit ones such as yourself who have survived when all others have not. You have been here alone for some time and have not fallen to the corruption that rots this place or the madness of what you have seen."

Jack opened his mouth to speak but Josen held up a hand to quiet him. "Should you choose to join us, the life you led before, your intended profession and everything you have ever known will be left behind. However, do not mistake this as a demand to _forget_ the life you had, because when the fighting is done, your memories and your humanity will be all you have left."

The boy blinked at him and furrowed his brow in confusion, questions appearing to form in his mind.

"I will not ask you to forsake the pleasures of the flesh, friendship or love. This is not a _religious_ order. Perhaps it would be better to use the word _organization_ or... _calling_." Josen continued with a smile. "We only ask for determination, dedication and discipline, not to mention strength of character. I understand that the person you were before has been slain. But here you sit, though, as someone new." Josen said conversationally while Jack watched his every movement. "Your new self was born from the spilled blood of your parents and the people you knew and loved, then baptized in the river that took your sister. You were given a _second life_, it is yours to do with as you wish. Say the word and we will leave you to die at the feet of the graves of your family, if that is what you truly want. But if you wish to join us, you are welcome to join the hunt." Josen offered calmly, "I believe that children are often wiser than we give them credit for, you are almost a young man, more than capable of making your own choices."

"I'm sorry sir." Jack interrupted quietly, voice raw from screaming after a period of disuse, "But I'm not quite sure what you are asking, what kind of organization is this? What _hunt_? What do you want from me?" He questioned, suspicion and confusion present in his blue-green eyes.

Josen stared at him, despite what this youth had experienced, how _long_ he had been left alone with the horrors he had seen, he was clear minded and bore a wisdom beyond his years. Where other children might have screamed hysterically or cried, this boy sat up straight before him and did not shed a tear.

"You hate demons don't you?" The master Hunter asked evenly.

"_Yes_." Jack answered, rage flaring in his eyes, burning away the earlier despair.

"Your hatred for those that have done this to you burns within you brighter than any sun. I only ask that you temper your hatred with discipline. If it will not go away, and trust me, it will _not_, turn it into something useful. Give it a _direction_, a_ target_." Josen explained carefully, steepling his fingers. "This we can teach you." He looked Jack directly in the eye. "I will ask you this once and only once my son; Do you wish to _hunt_ demons?"

There was no hesitation.

"Yes." Jack replied fiercely.

Josen smiled.

Lyndon's slumbering desires had long been unknown to him. This was unusual. He tended know exactly what he wanted at all times, be it person, item, or edible. But he had not been made aware of how badly he wanted the Demon Hunter until it was actually _happening_. He'd known he'd crossed the threshold between ignoring Jack and caring about him long ago, he valued the hunter's companionship more than any other person he had come into contact with, but he had not quite appreciated just how close to the precipice of the chasm of desire he had come until just this very moment.

And oh, how he _wanted_.

Jack smelled like smoke, wet dirt and leather, mixed with the ever familiar coppery odor of fresh blood. There was no trace of the overpowering perfumes of flowers and lavender that he was so used to. The difference was at once intoxicating and lit his nerves on fire. It had been _far_ too long since last he'd been with someone.

The Demon Hunter went still and tense, hands curled into claws, jumping up reflexively. Lyndon expected him to pull back immediately and curse him, strike him, shove him away, but he didn't. Instead, Jack's hands found their way to Lyndon's shoulders and he twisted them tightly into the fabric there. His mouth opened slightly (probably in surprise) and Lyndon wasted no time in swiping his tongue inside, testing, wondering just how far he was going to take this.

Sense and self preservation eventually won out and he reluctantly pulled away, though not before nipping at Jack's bottom lip with his teeth, pulling a startled, but quickly stifled noise from him.

Lyndon was immediately aware he was half hard _already_ and they were both panting. Jack stared wide eyed at him with a look like he'd taken a serious blow to the head from a Colossal Golgor. The scoundrel felt a little guilty, despite how much he had enjoyed it.

"Hahaha. What can I say? I couldn't _help_ myself." He said a bit sheepishly with a weak grin.

The dark haired hunter continued to stare at him with a bizarre expression that looked like a mixture of shock, confusion and the barest trace of fear. He still had not released Lyndon's shoulders from the death grip he held them in. In any other situation, Lyndon would have found this hilarious, but he couldn't muster the will to laugh at him. He was too busy coming to grips with the rush of dumb animal lust that had rolled over him from just one daft kiss. He sighed softly and rolled his eyes, "Alright, I'm _sorry_. You look like you've just been tortured or something. I won't do it again. Promise."

Jack didn't say anything, but pulled at his shoulders slightly while staring at his mouth. Lyndon couldn't ignore such an obvious cue and he wasn't exactly _known_ for keeping his promises anyway. He suddenly thought of Itherael saying that the pair of them were the most _interesting_ thing he'd ever seen, well, if he was still watching them... he'd give that peeping tom something to look at alright! He leaned forward slowly and kissed Jack again, and this time Jack's mouth opened immediately with a soft sound. Lyndon grabbed his head and pulled him in, and their kiss deepened.

Lyndon moaned into the other man's mouth, he had _missed_ this. He normally went after women, but he _had_ been with a few men before, though they had been few and far between. They had also been considerably more... _feminine_ than Jack was, but still. Even though he had preferences, he didn't _really_ care. He never had, just about _anyone_ was fair game, if they were pretty enough and said _yes_. It had been a while, months even and Jack was- well, he was the dashing war hero wasn't he?

And _damn_ if he didn't want him.

Despite his considerable skills in combat, Jack was terrible at kissing. Lyndon should have guessed, he seemed rather naive about the many social graces of flirting and fornication. He'd obviously never been with a girl before. Jack had actually believed that Lyndon was going to get _married_ to that miller's daughter he'd been with when they'd first met! Sarah? Susan? It didn't matter. It was almost endearing how loyal the man was to such old fashioned romantic ways.

Jack's bottom jaw trembled slightly and he didn't seem to know what to do with Lyndon's tongue in his mouth. He was a fast learner though, and soon they were going at it like eager kids, stopping only to suck mouthfuls of each others exhalations.

Lyndon pushed the hunter back against the headboard and pillows with some difficulty. Jack seemed unwilling to let go of him and Lyndon wanted to be careful of his wounded arm. He knelt over him and went to kiss him again, but moved to attack the pale column of Jack's throat instead, making him groan and shiver.

"Lyndon..." Jack gasped. "_Please_." Lyndon hummed against his throat, dragging his mustache over sensitive skin. The scoundrel paused to search Jack's eyes, finding them unfocussed and heavy lidded. Please what? Please ravish me? Please help me forget? Please let me escape? Please _stop_? From his voice, it sounded like it could have been any of those. Maybe all of them. Jack had practically given him permission to do _whatever_ he wanted, which made a hot pool of arousal uncurl in his gut like a wakening beast. Jack released his shoulders and curled his arms around the scoundrel's neck, holding him there tightly as Lyndon brought the flat of his tongue to where neck met shoulder and lapped and kissed at his skin, making the hunter shudder and growl from the sensation. The arms around his neck tightened and he had a sudden thought that Jack was probably strong enough to tear his head off, but he decided not to let that bother him.

He managed to get in between the hunter's long legs and wrapped an arm around his lower back, grinding their hips together. His efforts were rewarded with a low cry, then another, and another still as Lyndon rocked against him slowly.

The thief let his free hand skim over Jack's chest, working quickly to undo the ties of his tunic, string so worn it was barely holding the shirt together. He grit his teeth a bit in frustration as he fumbled with the fastenings in his eagerness. He wanted _skin_ damn it! He finally got the shirt open without ruining it, then off with a bit more difficulty with Jack's aching arm and his unwillingness to be anything that was slightly more flexible than a statue. Then it was warm chestnut skin, and- alright, no, there weren't any curves here, just slightly bony hips and hard planes of sinewy muscle. It had admittedly been a while since he'd had another man in his bed, but it wasn't like he'd just _forget_ there wouldn't be any tits right? Right. The temptation to have his way with the Demon Hunter was nearly overwhelming and from the way Jack was tense as a bowstring, and as unmoving as a corpse, he must have expected Lyndon to take him up on what he had so subtly offered. Gods Lyndon _wanted_ to, he wanted to do _more, harder, faster_.

Feeling shaking hands hesitantly slide up his arms while Jack averted his eyes and chewed on his bottom lip nervously, made Lyndon feel a little ashamed and he reigned himself in. "It's alright." He breathed, forcing his touch to become light and soothing. "We don't- We can... stop. If you want." Lyndon didn't often think things through and had a tendency to rush headfirst into most situations, but Jack definitely required a careful hand. Truthfully, the temptation to push the other man down, tear his infuriating black trousers off and bury himself in his body, was almost too much. Lyndon had never been one to deny himself pleasure in _any_ part of his life, but if he made a mistake, pushed too far, and acted purely on his base desires, Jack might pull away, withdraw, and never want to do this ever again. With _anyone._

Damn it all, it was supposed to be _fun_.

_There would be plenty of time for more later. _Lyndon couldn't quite be sure where that confident thought had come from and didn't much care. He'd think more on it... well, _later_.

"No. I-I want-" Jack was able to insist before his face turned impossibly redder. Lyndon offered him a disarming smile.

"Then relax. It's supposed to be fun." Lyndon said, and kissed him again.

What Jack was, _who_ he was, demanded a certain degree of patience from Lyndon. He'd been known to be able to scrape some together from time to time, despite what most people may have thought. Sometimes he could focus rather intensely for long periods of time. Really, he was alright at being patient if the situation called for it, and if Jack needed to forget for a while, Lyndon could do that _very_ well. He would make him forget his own name in a couple of minutes.

Lyndon waited until the trembling stopped before he resumed the fluid movements of his hips and slowly ran his tongue up the side of Jack's neck again. The Demon Hunter dragged air through his teeth and shook minutely, his hands clenching impossibly tighter, threatening to tear fabric. Jack had no business making pretty noises like that. Lyndon smiled a little, his mind racing with possibilities. He licked the skin a few more times, just to feel him shake. He was flooded with a surge of confidence, _this_ was familiar territory, something he was very good at. He sucked briefly on the fluttering pulse point, producing a choked whimper.

"_Lyndon!_" Jack growled, panting harshly.

"What?" Lyndon pulled back and grinned, the more Jack tried to stifle himself, the harder the scoundrel worked to pull sounds from him. An amusing game. He kissed him again while he untangled Jack's fingers from his shirt so he could finally take the damned thing off and fling it across the room. He tightened his grip around Jack's waist, theirs chests moving together, skin to skin. He snaked his fingers lower, trying to distract the hunter with kisses, but it was only a partial success.

"Wha-what are you _doing_?" Jack asked with a quiet desperation. Lyndon smiled mischievously. "Never you mind." He said slyly, then added, "Don't breathe so fast. You'll make yourself dizzy," when Jack started to suck air like a fish flopping on a dock. Lyndon assumed it was because he just managed to get the man's pants open and dipped his hand inside. If they were face to face, close like this, it might be less embarrassing? Lyndon wasn't sure. It had never really been a problem for him. "I won't hurt you, relax." Lyndon breathed a little more seriously, but it was laughable really, bloody _hilarious _just suggesting that Lyndon could even attempt to hurt him, but there was more than one way to damage someone, the thief knew all too well.

The scoundrel stroked the hot flesh in his fingers slowly, making sure it was not too much, that he had not overstepped, but Jack's hips started to rock into his hand, moaning as he unconsciously spread his legs wider. The hunter's eyes fluttered, dark lashes brushing his cheeks and he almost appeared to be in pain if not for the telling sounds that tumbled out of him. He kept throwing his head back and gasping. Jack's fingers scrambled for purchase and they settled into the skin of Lyndon's back, short nails starting to claw into him. Lyndon thought that he had never looked more fetching.

Gods, he wanted to do _everything_ to him.

The thief had to content his lust by laying soft bites and licks into Jack's mouth, neck, shoulders, collarbone, nipples, _anything_ he could reach to touch. He used both hands now to tease and stroke him. Jack's body moved without his consent, lost to the sensations. Lyndon _loved_ this part, undoing the other person, making them lose themselves. He may have been selfish in many ways, but not in this. No one could ever say he was not a generous lover. It was important to be liked, and what easier way was there to get someone to like you?

He slowed his hands down, drawing the pleasure out and making it _good_. Jack was half sitting up, long legs wrapped around Lyndon's waist, pulling him closer. His muscles squeezed and flexed while they moved together. Lyndon imagined how _nice_ it would be to get the other man naked. He was so a_chingly_ hard he thought he might just die if he didn't touch himself soon.

Jack tipped his head forward to rest Lyndon's shoulder as his nails drew pink, stinging lines into the scoundrel's shoulder blades. Lyndon sped up the movements of his hand on the hunter's cock, stroking him quickly, free hand around himself now, easing the ache and narrowing his awareness down to the sensations shared between them. Jack started to make lovely, pitched breathy noises. He was close. _Gods. _They both were.

The Demon Hunter suddenly went silent in his orgasm, shuddering as he came undone. His eyes went distant for long seconds, then he sunk his teeth into Lyndon's shoulder suddenly and his nails drew blood as he finally moaned, long and agonizing. The pain was pleasantly sharp at first, but then he bit down hard, eliciting a yelp from the scoundrel then a deep groan as the pain bled into pleasure and dragged him over the edge.

He came back to himself in stages as the haze of lust cleared. With the pleasurable fog ebbing he could start to feel pulsing welts in his back, his left shoulder felt _particularly_ sore. He spared a glance at it and saw that he was actually _bleeding_ from teeth marks. "Owww." Lyndon mouthed, hissing.

Well, no one could say that Jack wasn't a _fierce_ one. He'd seen what the man was capable of first hand, he supposed it could have always been worse. He could have torn his damned head off for instance.

The man in question was draped over him in a weak embrace, panting and twitching from aftershocks. Jack finally sat up a bit and locked eyes with him. His gaze half lidded, pupils blown wide from arousal, making them appear mostly black with just the smallest ring of turquoise, like the color of the Great Ocean on a midsummer's afternoon. They were vulnerable and open, softer than Lyndon had ever seen them. He had just enough presence of mind to think _oh, damn it all, _before those eyes finally moved away from his to fix on the bite he had inflicted. Lyndon forgot about the seed all over his hands and chest, realizing it was probably all over the sheets now. He grimaced and wiped his fingers off. Oh well, it wasn't like he wasn't _used_ to being covered in all sorts of strange fluids, this being the least strange on his depressingly long mental list.

And it wasn't like the room wasn't already a complete disaster anyway!

"I'm... _sorry_." Jack whispered in a raw voice, still breathing heavily. He looked exhausted. Physically and emotionally, but worse than that, _humiliated._

"None of that. It's _fine_... are-are you alright? Here, lie down." Lyndon said worriedly, moving over and maneuvering the hunter to lie down on the bed and pulling the blankets back over him. Jack buried his head in his folded arms and took a deep breath.

"Good? Fun?" Lyndon asked hesitantly, smiling brightly to drag them both out of the awkward mess they'd found themselves in.

"I'm-" Jack began, a little unsure, "I'm sure you've had... better." He finished shyly, looking anywhere but at the scoundrel's face.

Well, he wasn't exactly wrong but- "Nonsense. You were just fine."

Jack was soaked in sweat, lying on his stomach, a little tense, head turned to the side on his folded arms, kiss swollen lips parted slightly as his breathing calmed, and watching him with those damned _eyes_.

"Oh."

Maybe Lyndon was in just a _little_ bit over his head here. The man was absolutely gorgeous. It wasn't like the thief to not notice something like that right away. This little incident was beginning to feel like more of an inevitability rather than an accident. That sudden, internal revelation was a little sobering, but then again, not really, given his rather promiscuous history. And was it really any more shocking then those giant demon creatures that had their skin torn off to be used to make those roads in Hell? Probably not. Likely nothing else ever would be- _Oh Gods, disgusting. Shouldn't have thought of it at all._

"Alright?" Lyndon asked again.

"_Yes_. Stop asking me that." Jack eventually answered, voice gravelly.

"I will when you stop lying." Lyndon responded quickly, stretching his back and moving to sit up against the headboard. "You're a terrible liar."

The Demon Hunter was quiet, and he blinked, staring into the nothing of the pillows and sheets.

"I'm alright." Jack finally said. Lyndon smirked and brought up a careful hand down to stroke the hunter's shoulder blades. He jumped when Lyndon's fingers made contact, and went very still for a few moments, as though the sensation was more foreign than pleasurable. Lyndon thought that rather sad. But Jack relaxed into it eventually, and they sat in peaceful quiet for several long minutes. Jack deserved to feel normal for once, instead of like some killing machine, or an unfathomable demigod. He deserved to feel like a _person_, and if Lyndon could give him that for even a_ moment_\- It was good of him right?

"Why did you come with me? It couldn't have just been for the gold." Jack asked suddenly, catching Lyndon off guard. "I mean... I mean _after_. Not... Not before." Jack continued awkwardly.

"You asked me to go. So I did." Lyndon said gently, letting his fingers trace soothing patterns over the hunter's spine. He missed being able to touch someone. It had been too long.

Jack stared at him, his expression rather strange. "Is it so simple?"

"Sure. Why not? We're friends aren't we?" Lyndon asked, then frowned at the man's pensive expression. "And if I'm the best you could find than I apologize." He joked, hoping to ease the tense line in Jack's shoulders.

The Demon Hunter's mouth finally curved up in a small smile of unbearable gratitude. "Yes. Thank you."

_Is someone like me really worth being so grateful for?_

"Anytime." Lyndon said and, damn it all, _meant it_ but, see?_ A little fun never hurt anyone._

Jack closed his eyes as the sensation of being touched finally relaxed him, his shoulders loosening as he curled against Lyndon's legs, growing drowsy. Lyndon let his fingers wander, discovering that yes, that black hair was as thick and as soft as it looked, and he scratched lightly at the man's scalp. That touch earned him a sudden shudder along with a soft noise of pure contentment.

Good.

"Do you think Itherael still watches us?" Lyndon asked suddenly.

"Mm?" Jack mumbled, already half asleep.

"Never mind." Lyndon muttered, then was quiet again.

Lyndon continued to pet his hair, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. His fingertips traced down again to his back, then over the tattoo, and he remembered he wanted to know more about it.

"Jack? Are you asleep?" he asked quietly. There was only a soft snore in response. Lyndon grinned in triumph. He supposed he could always ask him tomorrow.

The sun rose to greet a cold morning. There was a thin layer of frost on the ground that would melt within hours, but that didn't change the fact that Winter (the most depressing season, ask anyone) was trying to creep up on them _already_. Lyndon woke to warm breath, puffing rhythmically against the top of his spine and a bare, corded arm wound firmly around his chest. There was a warm body attached to that arm, curled tightly against his back. He was bewildered for only a moment before he recalled the previous night.

History dictated that he should be hastily gathering his things and escaping through the window before his night's conquest woke. But this was an entirely _different_ situation. Leaving was simply not an option, nor one he even considered.

Jack was still deeply asleep beside him, practically wrapped around him. It was strange that the hunter was not up before him, but Lyndon supposed he had experienced a rather... _eventful_ night. Feeling more refreshed then he thought despite the many interruptions in his sleep, Lyndon untangled himself carefully and slipped out of bed, dragging the blankets and furs back over the hunter. He was relieved when Jack barely stirred, only sighed softly and burrowed deeper into the warm spot he'd left behind.

He looked at the sleeping Demon Hunter and tried to fully comprehend the little problem he had created for himself. His desire raged within him like a caged beast. He could barely look at the other man without getting hot and bothered. The wheels began to turn in his head for how he could possibly be able to get Jack to do this again. Do _more_. He had no idea how Jack was going to feel when he woke, so he decided to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

Lyndon shivered, uncomfortable in the cold room and a bit depressed by the dried blood on the floorboards. He hunted up his shirt and dressed quickly, feeling the sting of cuts in his back and the soreness of the "love bite" when he moved. He was pleased that his boots seemed to have dried well enough and he pulled them on carefully. His duster was dry as well and he pulled that on too, glad to finally be wearing something warmer than just a tunic and pants. He then tackled the problem of moving all the furniture he had piled in front of the door without disturbing the Demon Hunter.

Having somehow miraculously accomplished this with only a stubbed toe to show for it, he chanced a glance back at the hunter, noting with some satisfaction that he hadn't moved.

He'd wake Jack when he got back if he wasn't up, but for now, he'd let him sleep as much as he needed to.

He grabbed the deer skull and skin almost as an afterthought, then strapped his weighty crossbow to its familiar place on his back before he shut the door quietly, making sure it would stay closed alright despite being broken in several places. Satisfied, he made his way downstairs.

If there was one thing Lyndon appreciated about mornings it was how _quiet_ things were. It was wretched thing to wake up to a headache a_nd_ loud noises after a night of heavy drinking.

"C-can I get you anything my Lord?" The Innkeeper asked him nervously when he approached the bar, interrupting his musings.

_Ooo! Lord hm_? He resisted the urge to laugh. What a _nice_ change this was. He'd always like the sound of 'Lord.'

"Why yes... yes you can. Breakfast please, for myself and my _Demon Hunter _friend upstairs." He stated, watching the chubby man pale at the mention of Jack. A sneaky tactic, to intimidate with the Demon Hunter's presence, but Lyndon hasn't gotten to where he was today by being fair. "I'll return in a half an hour or so. And _so_ sorry about the room and the hall. Right mess that was!" Lyndon finished with a smile, tossing more coin onto the counter.

"Not a problem my Lord! R-right away my Lord!" The Innkeeper managed, while scrambling into the kitchen.

"You are _too_ kind." Lyndon said on his way out the door, voice filled with mirth. He spied the three girls from last night, sprawled snoring over their table, soaked in vomit, thus reinforcing his good decision to spend his time with _Jack_ instead. He grinned to himself, looking much like a Cheshire cat.

Ha!

The muddy streets outside weren't quite as bustling as he expected they should have been in the early morning, but it was a small town, and people were still up and about, going about their daily business.

There were no harsh words hurled in his direction today. People steered clear of him as he walked by, but stared after him, speaking to each other in hushed voices when he passed. Word, apparently, traveled fast. He expected no less. He was glad no one approached him, he didn't much feel like speaking to anyone, wanting instead to get back to the room as soon as he could and eat.

The scoundrel made his way lazily to the town square where he assumed the market would be set up. He expected that Jack would want to leave here as soon as he was up, and thought he might pick up the supplies they needed ahead of time to hasten their departure as a little favor to the hunter. He approached the stands and perused the items for sale. It was tempting to _steal_, but he definitely had the money and besides, Jack would know and would only be cross with him. He bought a bag of apples and a bag of potatoes, packing them away in his bag carefully. He also picked up some oats and a few longer lasting loaves of bread.

He was aware that people were watching him, so he greeted each shop stand owner with a smile and remembered his 'pleases' and 'thank you's.' He had no desire to draw any more negative attention to himself. He'd not seen hide nor hair of the surviving men from last night and was extremely grateful for that.

Thinking of the repairs they would have to make to some of their clothes, he traded in the deer skin and skull for spools of strong thread and strips of cured leather for patching. He wanted to have something _new_ tailored for him at some point, but he would not find the quality or materials he desired in a place like Holbrook. Demon skin leather was a rather _difficult_ material to find. Jack's cloak was made of it and it protected him very well. Lyndon wanted that same protection for himself, then Jack wouldn't have to worry about him so much.

There was a large Raven sitting on top of one of the buildings in the square. It caught his eye before it flew to a closer perch. He paid it no mind, he'd seen the black carrion birds plenty of times before. Even when most of the other animals had gone, they remained.

Struggling to think of anything else they needed, Lyndon decided that what he bought would probably be enough for now. They could always stop in Bram- No. Not Bramwell, _or_ Havenwood Lyndon thought sadly, thinking of how upset Jack was last night.

Tristram then. They weren't too far away and they needed to meet up with Haedrig anyway. He looked forward to that! He really missed the blacksmith. Thinking back to the map, he concluded that Bramwell was closer to Westmarch than it was to Holbrook, but he wasn't quite sure.

Lyndon suddenly spied a familiar looking item that he had previously only seen in Caldeum and other cities boasting far greater wealth than little Holbrook. There was only one on display. Possibly a fluke delivery, not many in a town like this would even be able to _afford_ an entire bag. And besides, Jack _loved_ it.

"How much for the coffee?" He asked the young shop girl. She seemed surprised to be spoken to and swallowed nervously, a red blush creeping onto her cheeks. He noted that she had blonde hair, tied up in a bun and was rather _pretty_ despite her obvious hand-me-down dress. He smiled at her. The blush worsened and she stammered when she spoke. "C-coffee is two thousand gold mi'Lord! All the way from Lut Gholein!"

"Ah, well then..." He said smiling gently. "One please." He handed her the equivalent value of five thousand. "Keep the change."

"A-are you _sure_-?" She asked, stunned, handing over the bag to him with clumsy fingers.

"Quite." He replied, winking at her. "_Thank_ you!" He added, taking his purchase and strolling away. Leaving the girl standing with more gold in her dainty hands than she would likely see in several months.

Sometimes, it felt good to do the _nice_ thing.

He headed back toward the Three Arrows Inn, feeling proud of himself. Then he noticed the Raven again, flying along the tops of the houses. It stopped when he stopped, and kept up with him when he continued walking.

...Strange.

Eventually, it landed on the ground in front of him and squawked. Lyndon, confused, shoo'd it away with a wave of his hands and continued on. It didn't fly away, but instead hopped after him making a bizarre collection of loud, annoying noises.

"Alright, alright? What do you want?!" He shouted at it irritably, frightening a nearby baker, pushing a cart of bread. Lyndon was expecting it might be begging for a _handout_ of some kind, but then he noticed the letter tied to the thing's leg.

"Oh, you're _Jack's_ Raven." He said. If you've seen one raven you've seen them all in his opinion. He approached it, assuming he could just pick it up and take the letter. The Raven started caw'ing and clicking and making a racket. Lyndon managed to grab its foot and it flapped at him angrily, hitting him in the face with its wings.

He was causing quite a scene now, but he didn't care as he struggled with the angry bird. "Just... _let me_!" He grunted, fingers being pecked as he painstakingly untied the letter from the thing's foot. "GIVE IT HERE!" He shouted, finally getting the parchment free. "Gods, wretched ball of feathers!" He snapped, looking around awkwardly to the people watching who had averted their eyes and hastily moved away from him. He smoothed his hair back into place and examined the parchment.

The letter was addressed to _Jack_, in pretty writing, but he unrolled the paper and began to read it anyways. Oh! It was from Eirena! And, he supposed, from _Kormac_ by default. She asked how they were, spoke of how she and Kormac were getting on. He chuckled a bit at how _oblivious_ she was to the Templar's affections. It was all very hilarious. He read on, she talked about what she learned in the library... boring, boring, _more_ boring. He skipped through the letter quickly, stopping only when he saw his name or Jack's. She asked how Jack was doing, how he was _feeling. _Lyndon frowned, she was as concerned for Jack as _he_ was. Then he read '_Kormac wants to know if Lyndon is acting tolerably. I told him that Lyndon was probably fine company. He is very cheerful most of the time and will be good for you. I hope that this is the case as Kormac was very concerned._' Lyndon grit his teeth, blood boiling.

That... rotten... _Templar_!

He sighed in frustration, thinking about how he could get back at Kormac, then forced himself to read the rest. Eirena asked about Tyrael and if they had heard from him or his new band of Horadrim. She also asked when she and Kormac should leave for Westmarch. As much as he wanted to send back a scathing insult to that _stupid_ Templar, Lyndon decided he'd have to give the letter to Jack so that he could send them a reply. He tucked the letter into a pocket of his coat carefully.

The Raven was cawwing at him again, and he kicked at it in exasperation. He hated birds! "What do you _want_?!" He yelled. The bird rumbled and clacked. Lyndon had a thought and searched his pockets, he fished out some old, soggy deer jerky and hurled it at the creature. The Raven picked it up in its mouth and flew toward the inn.

Lyndon spent the rest of the short walk wondering how Jack was going to find the bloody thing again to send his reply. And how did it even get across the sea to and from Caldeum? Surely it didn't_ fly_? Did it stow away on a boat? He pulled open the door to the Inn, noting that there were more people inside now chatting to the Innkeeper. They looked up at him nervously when he opened the door as if he were going to pull out his crossbow and start _shooting_ at them. The men scattered to different parts of the room as he entered.

He approached the bar and handed the frightened Innkeeper the bag of coffee beans.

"Grind this, then brew it per the instructions on the bag. I'll wait." He said quickly, picking at the breakfast the man had brought out to him. Ham and eggs, one of his favorites! He ate contentedly while the poor innkeeper met his demand. Mouth full of food, he waved and smiled to the other individuals scattered around the tavern who looked away fearfully.

Bored, he sighed and hoped it wouldn't take too long to _leave_. All these people tip-toeing around him would only be amusing for so long.

The innkeeper returned with a steaming pot of coffee along with porcelain cups and containers of sugar and fresh cream. Lyndon took the bag back from him and stacked everything neatly on the tray. He grinned at the innkeeper, amused by the man's wariness toward him, if only temporarily. If everyone was this frightened of _him_, how would they react to seeing the Demon Hunter in the flesh? He laughed to himself and went back upstairs.


	5. Good Morning

_"Angel, angel, what have I done?_  
_I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire_  
_I've conquered country, crown, and throne_  
_Why can't I cross this river?_

_ Pay no mind to the battles you've won_  
_It'll take a lot more than rage and muscle_  
_Open your heart and hands, my son_  
_Or you'll never make it over the river."_

―_The Humbling River_, Puscifer

* * *

Lyndon opened the door soundlessly, balancing everything carefully, and noted that Jack was still asleep. Lovely. He was feeling rather good, he'd been hoping an arrow through the skull wasn't in his immediate future. He closed the door quietly with his foot and unshouldered his bag of purchases. There was some movement from one of his bags on the floor and he froze, before cautiously nudging it with his foot. It tipped over and pair of ferrets spilled out of his satchel, wriggling like furry snakes. They quickly scampered into one of Jack's traveling bags, chirping to each other.

Lyndon sighed, but he decided not to let it spoil his terrific mood. He hadn't felt _this_ good in a long time.

The tray of food he set down clattered lightly on the small table and Jack shot up, quick as a whip, hand already on one of his crossbows before he recognized Lyndon. He put the weapon back carefully and exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. His shoulder length black hair was messy, tousled from sleep.

"Good _morning_, sleeping beauty." Lyndon teased merrily, "Breakfast in bed?" He asked lightly, grinning. Jack stared at him, looking mildly exasperated, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Jack sat there a few moments, blinking in the light and Lyndon took in the sight of his bare torso with some appreciation. He looked as _enticing_ in the sunlight as he did by candlelight.

"I overslept." Jack stated blankly, looking around the room.

"Yes, you were very tired." Lyndon replied, pouring himself some coffee while he finished his breakfast. It wasn't exactly _late_, but Jack was usually up at first light.

"What _time_ is it?" He asked.

Lyndon peered at the softly ticking clock on the mantle, "Just past nine."

"We shouldn't linger here any longer." Jack threw the covers back and got out of bed with a low groan, gripping his wounded arm tightly. The injury hadn't bled through the bandages Lyndon observed gladly, despite their... _vigorous_ activities.

"Hurts?" Lyndon asked around a mouthful of cold ham. Jack nodded at him silently, hunting around for his clothes. A few minutes passed in silence while Jack got himself together.

"I like your shirt." Lyndon said casually, sipping at his coffee, testing the hunter's reaction.

Jack frowned. "I'm not wearing a-," Then realization dawned on the hunter's face and he glared at the scoundrel with great irritation. "That's what I _like_." Lyndon finished, smiling slyly.

Jack's glare fell away to be replaced with a deeply worried, uncertain expression. Lyndon was curious to see how Jack would feel about their new..._ affections_ for each other. He supposed the man's face was answer enough. _Well_, Lyndon thought, sighing softly, he should have known this would take _work_. Jack seemed to be more or less back to normal, and Lyndon was beginning to think that last night may have just been a moment of weakness for the hunter, much as he hoped it would be otherwise.

He couldn't be sure of Jack's true thoughts on the subject, as he _certainly_ wasn't going to talk about his feelings again anytime soon. As difficult as it would be, Lyndon would have to be _patient_ and give him space. Strangely, he felt up to the challenge.

After all, Kingsport wasn't built in a day.

"Hey, don't worry about it. You have enough to think about." Lyndon said reassuringly, already formulating plans in his head. He poured the hunter some coffee and dumped in cream and sugar as Jack dressed himself in his armor carefully.

Jack looked at him shyly and nodded, "Alright." he murmured quietly, appearing as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest.

"In the meantime, we're still _friends_, alright?" Lyndon said seriously. "Really, I'd prefer it if you didn't _clam up_ again. You can still talk to me about whatever you like. " He offered.

"Yes, alright." Jack whispered, with near disbelief, as if he'd forgotten what it meant to have someone he could confide in. That struck Lyndon as terribly sad, but he was heartened by Jack's response. It meant Lyndon could keep trying to get close to him without being shoved away.

Jack grabbed a scarf and tied the two ends together to make a makeshift sling for his wounded arm, sighing slightly as the ache lessened. Then he went to feel his cloak that was still hanging up, and finding it dry, removed it from the rope it hung on and wrapped it around himself like a security blanket. He kept the hood down though, and ran a quick hand through his hair to smooth it out. Lyndon followed his movements with his eyes, mind a swirling tempest of conflicting thoughts.

There was a clicking sound at the window, that Raven was sitting on the sill, pecking lightly at the glass. "Oh." Jack opened the window and cold air rushed in. He took the bird on his good arm, closing the window after it, and pet it gently in long strokes with his injured one. Lyndon thought it must hurt to touch the mangy thing, why do it? Jack let it bite gently onto his fingers and it made a soft cooing sound. Lyndon was suddenly _insanely_ jealous. He stared daggers at the dirty thing, practically spitting. He couldn't believe he was actually _envious_ of a disease ridden rat with wings!

"It had a letter, I nearly forgot, I er... _saw_ the bird outside." Lyndon fibbed quickly and handed Jack the letter from inside his duster. "Your bat is in the curtains." He added as an afterthought. Jack silently fished the sleepy brown creature out of the window fabric and tucked it into a pocket in his cloak, then sat down at the table. He read the letter carefully while he ate, casting Lyndon a glance once or twice and the scoundrel once again thought of what Kormac had said about him. What a_ bastard_ that Templar was!

"It's easier to take letters from him if you're more patient, he doesn't like being approached too quickly." Jack said to him without looking up. Lyndon glared at the Raven, "And _I _don't like having my fingers pecked." He said childishly, directing his response at the black bird. Jack sighed.

"And Kormac would trust you more if you stopped _stealing_ from him." The hunter lectured sternly, meeting his eyes evenly.

"And I'll _stop _stealing from him when he calls me by my bloody _name_ rather than just 'scoundrel' all the time!" Lyndon snapped angrily, but then became immediately apologetic. "Sorry, I'm not mad at _you_, I just- ugh. He's going to need more than _locks_ for his satchel." Lyndon muttered darkly.

"I'll speak with him if you like, but the both of you should try harder to get along." Jack offered with a sigh."You might also consider _asking_ before reading a letter addressed to someone else if you do not want to be upset." Jack continued gently with a slight upward quirk of his lips. Lyndon merely grumbled, picking at his food.

"No news from Tyrael then." Jack said, folding up the letter. "I wonder if something has gone wrong?" Jack said with some concern as the Raven took ham from his fingers.

"Do you think something might have?" Lyndon asked worriedly. He was beginning to enjoy the peace after the defeat of the Prime Evils, he rather hoped it wasn't about to end before it really began.

"The Black Soulstone is very dangerous. We should take a caravan to get to Westmarch faster just in case. Its not like Tyrael to not send word for so long." Jack replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "He said they were hiding the soulstone underground, very close to Westmarch, but would not say anymore than that." He continued.

_No more walking then! Thank Akarat!_ Lyndon thought brightly.

Jack paused, mid sip. "Where did you get this?" He asked suddenly, only then realizing what he was drinking. He wrapped both hands around the cup gratefully.

"In the market. I _bought_ it for you. Along with some other things we needed." Lyndon said simply, pleased with himself.

"You didn't have to-" Jack began awkwardly.

"I wanted to." Lyndon interrupted quickly. "You had a bad night. Well, _partly_ anyways." He finished with a smug grin.

An embarrassed flush crept up the hunter's neck and Lyndon noticed some bruising at his throat, marks he had left in his lustful eagerness. Jack should _probably_ wear a scarf for a while.

"I... do not deserve your kindness." Jack said quietly, eyes downcast, Lyndon knew that he wasn't just talking about the coffee. The scoundrel scoffed at that. _His _kindness? Jack was so much nicer than he could _ever_ be.

"Right, right, I'm a bloody saint. No more of this nonsense now, don't be ridiculous. You deserve this and more." Lyndon said quietly giving the man's shoulder a squeeze. Careful not to push. "Drink your damned coffee."

Afterward, when Jack was tearing out a piece of paper from the back of his journal to reply to Eirena, he paused and cautiously showed Lyndon an etching of his sister. It was a very _good_ drawing, the image appeared very realistic with little stylization or embellishment. The edges were worn from what Lyndon could only assume were repeated viewings, but the image itself was not faded and well cared for. Lyndon looked at it for a long time, noting the facial similarities between Jack and his younger sister. He wasn't quite comfortable holding it, for fear that he would damage it somehow.

"She was very pretty." He said eventually, handing it back to Jack, who took it and placed it back in his journal carefully. "Did she have light hair? Its not colored to be dark like yours." Lyndon asked.

"Yes, it was so blonde it was almost white. Silvery." Jack said, sounding a little tired again. "My father had light hair too, thought not as light as hers. My mother had black hair, like mine." He continued, it clearly pained him to speak of it and Lyndon wished he hadn't asked. "I've never shown her picture to anyone else before, other than my mentor." He finished quietly.

Lyndon didn't have a response for that, but it left him feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the weight of Jack's trust.

Jack moved back to the table and penned a quick reply to Eirena, detailing their plans. Then attached it carefully to the Raven's leg before sending it on its way. Good riddance!

* * *

It didn't take them long to gather their things and head downstairs. Jack paused to give the ruined and bloodied hallway a vaguely tortured look, but continued on at Lyndon's non verbal urging. The scoundrel hoped he would not continue to blame himself.

Downstairs, the innkeeper froze at the sight of the Demon Hunter approaching him.

"Good morning." Jack said quietly. "Could you tell me if there are any caravans that might be passing through and would be traveling to New Tristram? Or any that might accept payment for a detour?" The hunter spoke so quietly and calmly that the innkeeper seemed to relax a bit and answered his questions. Lyndon hovered about near the fireplace, letting Jack do his thing. The hunter kept his hood down, which probably went a long way for making him look less frightening. Perhaps he'd finally taken to following Lyndon's advice that if he presented himself in a friendlier manner, strangers wouldn't be so wary. Maybe Lyndon could even convince him to _smile_ sometime!

Lyndon circled back a little closer to hear what the innkeeper was saying.

"I know yeh saved New Tristram, and everyone in town knows it now too." The bearded man said quietly. "We're grateful to yeh for keeping us all safe. Though some are still afraid... because of the massacre here nearly two years ago. Please understand, people almost didn't want to come _back_. Then to see a Demon Hunter again so _soon_..." The man explained quietly.

Two years ago? Lyndon thought. That meant Jack hadn't been away from the Demon Hunters for very long at _all_.

"Yes. I know." Jack said quietly. "Thank you for letting us stay. I'm truly sorry that anyone was hurt." He finished.

"Yeh seem like a kind young man. It was not yer fault." The innkeeper conceded. "They acted alone on their own suspicions. Many tried to persuade 'em to stop."

"Thank you." Jack said simply, handing over a sizable amount of gold, then he caught Lyndon's eye and they left.

"What did he say?" Lyndon asked immediately, eyes on the townsfolk watching them leave.

"He said that there might be a caravan waiting down the road near the river. They often stop there to water their horses. If they're there, they might be willing to take us to New Tristram." Jack explained.

"Ah." Lyndon replied absently, thinking.

They passed through the town gates, neither of them looked back, and followed the road leading away from Holbrook. Lyndon couldn't exactly say he would _miss_ the place, but if they hadn't stopped, he wouldn't have learned so much about his dark friend. He just wished Jack hadn't had to suffer such emotional (and physical) pain just so he could open up a little.

It was amazing, he thought, how much things could change in a single night.

Jack had not spoken since they'd left the town and appeared to be lost in thought. Lyndon decided to let him alone for now.

* * *

They followed the road that ran by the river, Lyndon noted with gladness that it was getting a bit warmer out as the morning stretched on. The skies were blue and clear, hopefully that meant there would be no more bloody _rain_ for a while.

They came around the bend and saw a few wagons parked at the rivers edge, just as described. Lyndon could hardly believe their good fortune.

Jack spoke to the caravan master and offered him gold and protection in exchange for transport to New Tristram. The man eagerly accepted, thieves and demons were still a problem and any additional security was in high demand. The caravan master even said that they were already _bound_ for New Tristram! A _blacksmith_ there had apparently ordered some expensive new equipment. Lyndon delighted in the idea of surprising Haedrig by arriving with his order of tools. Soon they had all their possessions piled into the last wagon.

Lyndon settled himself into some hay in the last wagon next to Jack, thinking that this was not too dissimilar from the first time they had traveled in a caravan together, all those months ago. He had been hungover and a little sick then. That part didn't quite have the same nostalgic appeal.

Speaking of nostalgia, he suddenly had an amusing idea.

He skimmed his fingers into Jack's cloak, grinning to himself, and lifted his purse of gold from him as he had that first caravan trip. Jack was busy gazing out into the surrounding trees and didn't notice. When the hunter turned back to him Lyndon held the stolen item out to him, laughing at his own trick. Jack grabbed it back and narrowed his eyes in anger and confusion (Lyndon hadn't stolen from him for quite some time), but then his face softened and he _smiled_.

Ah, _that's_ what he had wanted. "You have a _nice_ smile." Lyndon said grinning at him. Jack looked down at his hands, smile fading. Not giving him a chance to retreat into himself, Lyndon asked the question he'd been sitting on since yesterday.

"That tattoo you have." He began, curbing his amusement. "Its very ornate, what does it mean and where did you get it?" He asked earnestly.

Jack paused and thought about the question. "There is a man named Quang, a chemist from Xiansai who lives among the Demon Hunters in the Dreadlands. Apart from being an explosives expert, teaching us much of what we know about making grenades and traps, he is also a talented artist and tattoo master." Jack began. "Most Demon Hunters get some form of tattoo, usually of some arrows or a raven or some other symbol of our calling. Few receive our sigil, which is what mine depicts." He finished.

"Was yours a _special_ honor?" Lyndon asked curiously.

"Something like that." Jack replied simply, shifting with a slight wince.

"Hmm." The thief hummed thoughtfully, watching him.

"Does that bruise on your hip hurt?" Lyndon asked.

"...Yes." Jack answered cautiously.

"How'd you get it?" Lyndon inquired curiously, enjoying the experience of having all of his questions _answered_ for once. "Not at the farmer's field a few days ago?"

"No, I got it the other night when I got the stag. I... slipped on some moss and landed on a rock." Jack admitted sheepishly, a little embarrassed. It was usually _Lyndon_ who tripped and fell or slipped on something, Jack was normally quite graceful.

Lyndon chuckled, "You should have let me go with you when I'd asked."

"Why? So you could have _saved_ me?" Jack questioned sarcastically.

"No, so I could have laughed at you!" Lyndon teased.

"Shut up!" Jack snapped at him, cheeks coloring pink.

Lyndon laughed warmly, then continued with his questions. "Everyone calls you young, just how old _are_ you anyway?" He asked.

"Why? Age has never stopped you before." Jack shot back quickly.

Lyndon barked out a laugh at Jack's sudden display of humor. "Haha! You've got me there!"

"You're just full of questions aren't you?" Jack muttered, looking out into the landscape again as the carriages prattled on down the road.

"It's my curious nature." Lyndon responded, "I'm just trying to get to _know_ you and since you've been so _chatty_ recently." He said with a smile, but regretted his words the moment they fell out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to remind the hunter of his emotionally trying, late night confession.

Jack's eyes flashed hurt and irritation and Lyndon hurriedly apologized, cursing himself for his carelessness. "Sorry, I just... You know a lot about _me_, I just want to know more about _you_." He amended hopefully.

"Twenty summers, you already know me." Jack replied tersely.

Gods, so _young_!

"Going by your personality, I always thought you were _older_ than me!" He said with some surprise. "I'm twenty eight, and I don't know you _that_ well. You've only told me a few things." The scoundrel added petulantly.

"I've told you more than I've ever told anyone else." Jack responded quietly.

Lyndon paused at that and wondered, "Why me?"

Perhaps _this_ was the question he had been sitting on since yesterday. Since two months ago in fact, when Jack had asked _him_ and him alone, to travel with him towards Westmarch.

Jack was quiet for a minute, he didn't seem to know the answer either. "I don't know." He finally said. He seemed troubled again and looked like he wanted to brood. They both sat quietly, rocking slightly with the rhythm of the wagon, wheels rolling over packed dirt. There were other travelers in the wagons ahead, talking, merchants discussing their deliveries, horses snorting just ahead.

"It's my looks isn't it?" Lyndon said seriously after long minutes of quiet. "I'm _devastatingly_ handsome I know, people just can't help but want to tell me everything." Lyndon finished airily.

"Shut up!" Jack shouted, giving him a hard shove.

Lyndon laughed loudly, tilting his head back. "Ha!" He snaked his arm behind Jack's shoulders, resting it on the back of the wagon, testing the limits again. Jack tensed up slightly and sat stiffly for a few minutes, but then gradually relaxed by inches. Lyndon was confident that his patience would eventually pay off.

The carriage rumbled west, back to New Tristram to begin again where things had begun before, the late morning sun warm on their backs.

―End


	6. Winds of Change

Epilogue

* * *

_I am too connected to you to_  
_Slip away, to fade away._  
_Days away I still feel you_  
_Touching me, changing me._

―H., TOOL

* * *

Lyndon's presence was soothing.

Jack knew that words strung together in that order should not be able to exist as the rogue was frequently annoying, unhesitatingly selfish, a sneaky thief, a relentless complainer, teased him and Kormac (and everyone else) mercilessly, arrogant, argued, made dirty jokes and awful puns, had narcissistic tendencies, an almost supernatural ability to conjure bed mates when there should have been no one willing for _miles_, and generally never closed his mouth, even when he was sleeping, which caused him to snore with a sound like a dying quill beast. Traits that did not commonly create a calming effect. Lyndon should not have been anything even remotely _close_ to soothing.

But he was all the same.

He was a man with many flaws, yes, but Lyndon had also changed much over the course of their quest. Though it was meager at best, the thief had finally developed a sense of responsibility. When he became involved in something he thought was important, he gave it his all and never turned back or ran, even if he was terrified. At first the Demon Hunter thought him a sneaky coward. Now, Jack found his bravery rather astounding. Lyndon was able to see the sunny side of even the most dire of situations and his chatter put Jack at ease, even if the hunter didn't always listen to what was said. The rogue never let him wallow in unpleasant thoughts if he could help it and frequently distracted him from brooding, something Jack had never realized he would appreciate.

Lyndon still refused to allow him to writhe in his nightmares, no matter how many times Jack asked not to wake him. The Demon Hunter found that he slept better, knowing that someone was going to be there to pull him back if his dreams and memories came to swallow him.

Jack hadn't thought much on Lyndon's effect on him until recent events forced him to examine their relationship in depth. He thought he knew what to expect from the thief, they had their routines and they got along well enough, all things considered. Even if Jack sometimes had to escape into the woods to be alone for a little while. They made a rather good fighting team as well. Then... they had stayed in Holbrook and many secrets had been whispered in the dark, changing everything Jack had ever thought or felt about the rogue and himself.

It had been one of the hardest things Jack had ever done, he would almost had preferred to go back to _Hell_. At least there he wouldn't have had to talk about himself, give voice to what had happened to him. Not even his mentor had been able to piece together the full picture. But he had told Lyndon almost _everything_. He had effectively spilled his guts to him at the slightest show of compassion and the scoundrel had surprised him yet again with words from the heart that had actually helped, like salve on a wound. Healing him by slow degrees.

Then he had surprised him one more time with demanding kisses and quick, wandering hands that had reduced him to whimpers. Lyndon touched him like he wasn't something vile or tainted, like he was something to be desired. Then he'd let Jack have space to breathe again, displaying a level of self control that Jack didn't think was possible for Lyndon, but he was extremely grateful for.

Now he didn't know quite _what_ to think.

The last time he'd thought about kissing someone had been before his village was slaughtered and razed. He thought back to a girl, hair like a bright flickering flame, who had lived a few houses away from him. They played together when they had been younger and had still been friends as he reached his teens. He remembered that she was pretty. Anna her name was. Jack had never thought of himself as particularly good looking when he was younger and after he had joined the Demon Hunters he didn't think about what he looked like at all aside from keeping his hair on his face and head from getting too long for practicality purposes.

Anna had died in her home, slaughtered with the rest of her family. That night so many years ago... he had wanted to save her, but in the end he had just fled into the forest with his sister. Another painful memory.

The hunter swallowed, feeling the slightest bit sick. It was harder to bury his memories and emotions now, they rose up unwelcome at the most inopportune times and greatly affected his concentration and mood stability. Why was it so much _harder_ now than before?

"Alright Jack?" Lyndon asked lightly whilst leaning against him, wrenching him hard from his thoughts, back into reality.

He was in the back of a caravan on a road through the forest, leaving New Tristram and heading towards Westmarch. Lyndon and Haedrig had been catching up since they had hit the road again, talking of how New Tristram had been getting on since most of the troubles had ended and what Haedrig had been doing with his time. Lyndon had been telling Haedrig stories of things they had seen and done in Caldeum and some parts of Khanduras while he and Jack had been traveling together. He had talked about how they had been ambushed in the Holbrook Inn, but had thankfully, omitted the more _personal _details of that night. Lyndon was also bragging to the blacksmith about the arrows he was getting good at enchanting under Jack's careful instruction. He had a particular talent for the cold arrows, which would be quite helpful in the future if he mastered them. It must have had something to do with his refurbished crossbow. Lyndon occasionally had to scrape icicles off of the wooden handle that formed from the magic imbued within. Jack had largely remained quiet, lost in thought and had stopped listening to their conversation some time ago. They were both staring at him now.

"Yes, just... thinking." Jack replied softly.

"Ahh." Lyndon answered with a smile and turned back to the blacksmith. Haedrig was looking between them and Jack felt his face heat up. He turned back to the trees quickly. He felt like anyone that looked at him just _knew _that he and Lyndon had... _d one _things. Things that made his breath ragged and his skin burn for contact. Things that made his fingers itch to clutch at hot skin and twine into soft, shiny brown hair. Things that made him want to _beg _. It was impossible of course for anyone to know, but he felt self conscious about it anyway.

Jack blinked hard and focused on the forest -a female cardinal fluffing her feathers, chickadees chirping and flitting through the pines- until the feelings abated. It was strange. These thoughts and desires were so foreign to him. He'd practically skipped adolescence, he basically took on the roll of being an adult at just fourteen. He hadn't chased girls, just trained hard for _years_. Josen had worried for him and had frequently commented on his lack of friends or interest in girls, trying to get him to open up and be a little more social with the others. _"Hate that festers becomes a stagnant pool, diseased and filthy."_ he had told him. _"Let your hate flow freely to keep the river healthy. Do not keep it all inside or you will rot from within."_ But Jack had said he was alright, a lot of the Demon Hunters were like him, they stayed quiet and kept to themselves. Josen had probably talked to all of them about the same things. Jack just wanted to focus on perfecting his aim, mastering a difficult trap or getting the feathered edges of the arrows just so.

And controlling his personal river of hatred.

He told his mentor this, and the older man had backed off a bit, but still made a point to talk to him sometimes. Jack was aware now that he had been afraid to get close to anyone. If they _died _... He put up walls to protect his heart from further pain. It was already so scarred he sometimes wondered how it was able to keep beating.

When he had started this journey, sent by Josen to investigate the falling star and reports of undead in New Tristram, he expected to be alone, and at the time, that hadn't troubled him. But then he had started _acquiring _people similar to the ways in which he had acquired pets. People who refused to leave.

_Friends _, he now called them.

Leah had been his first friend since... Well, he supposed Josen was his friend, the man had worried after him and spoke to him enough. In fact, he should write to him soon, he was probably wondering where Jack _was_. But Leah... she had been a real friend.

He tried not to think about her much. The feelings of guilt and rage that came with it were almost heavy enough to cripple him. Leah's death had hurt him, more than he'd realized.

Jack had befriended Kormac and Eirena, and had called Lyndon friend after he had warmed up to the abrasive man. But now he wasn't sure if the word still applied. Perhaps he should call him something else, but the word 'lover' didn't quite fit either. It had only been _once _, but he clenched his hands just thinking about the word and what it implied. In his head, the word sounded like it was from a language he didn't understand.

He wasn't sure whether he should be _afraid _of Lyndon or not, ridiculous as the thought was, but the way Lyndon had _looked _at him yesterday, the last night they had been alone together. He had always considered Lyndon to be a rather... _passionate _individual, but he had looked at him with such an intensity burning in his eyes that Jack had to look away. It was as if the scoundrel were trying to stare into his very soul and he had been afraid that if he kept looking back he would fall and lose himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such an _irrational _fear, not even in his nightmares. Lyndon had smiled at him after and bid him goodnight, but Jack didn't fall asleep for a long time. He was tired this morning because of it and he was certain Lyndon had noticed.

The thief was much more observant and sharp witted than he had initially given him credit for. Jack had thought he was careless and stupid. He was not. Though he was often a little flighty and impulsive, he hid an impressive intelligence and keen insight into the minds and motivations of those around him. His eyes missed _nothing_. Lyndon's outward selfishness and lecherous apathy was a carefully crafted facade that Jack had only seen through the cracks of a few times. The scoundrel had as many secrets as the hunter did.

Lyndon was awakening emotions in him he thought had long since died. They were fresh and sharp, now that they were creeping back. It was confusing and frightening. Like stumbling around in the dark, being unable to find a point of reference.

There was also the new fear that too much comfort would make him soft, sloppy, _weak_. But after talking to the thief about his pain, he'd felt more in control of his anger and was working on getting a handle on his budding demonic powers as well. He needed to alter his meditations and training to get control of these new abilities as soon as possible, the risk of hurting someone was too great for him to ignore.

He had a sudden rush of terrible fear then, sharp enough to tighten his throat and make his hands start shaking, what if they died because of_ him_? He buried that fear almost as soon as it came, it was unbearable to consider. Jack stretched out his right hand to reach into his bag where the ferrets were sleeping. He pet them until the tremors in his fingers stopped. He thought he'd conquered his terror long ago. Apparently it was only for his fear of demons and death and had absolutely no effect on friendships and intimacy. Or nightmares. How convenient. He sighed softly.

And then, of course, there was the _touching _.

It wasn't often and it was never for very long, but, when Haedrig would look away, to dig out his pipe, go through his bag, or admire the scenery, Lyndon would _touch _him. He would snake his fingers into Jack's glove with incredible stealthiness (a talent he should be using for things _other _then theft and molestation) and stroke his fingertips over his palm, or he would caress the soft side of his wrist with his thumb, somehow get under his protective armor and shirt and lay a hand against the skin of his lower back, and even brush the sensitive place behind his knee. The first time it happened Jack had jumped as if he had been stung, and Lyndon had merely grinned innocently at him when Jack had practically bared his teeth at the man in anger. After, when it appeared Lyndon would not quit, Jack had to make a choice to either draw attention to the scoundrel's actions by asking him to stop, or do his level best to ignore it.

In the end, he chose to ignore it, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the blacksmith. The bastard was teasing him on purpose to play havoc on his nerves! The touches caused his heart to beat faster if he let his mind wander back to the other night, remembering how those fingers had made him feel. That was really what upset him the most, the _memories _they brought back without his permission. And yet... after a while, when he had relaxed a little and resolved to ignore the contact, he realized it was actually soothing and created a buzzing sensation throughout his entire body. He had no idea just how _calming _it could be to be touched.

Before, he had gotten all the contact he hadn't realized he'd desperately wanted from stroking fur and feathers. Animals did not ask him questions and they were generally pure creatures. They could not engage in the same evil as man or demon, unless they were twisted through unnatural means. It was calming to touch them and he thought it was enough. But they had been no substitute for a living, breathing _person_.

He hadn't realized how much his body craved the contact, every touch was too much and not enough. He'd wanted the touch the other night, had craved and needed the sensations he'd never experienced. The intimate closeness of another human being. He spent so much time fighting to _save_ them, but he did not experience what it was to truly _be_ human. He had pushed much of it away as a distraction or something he just never thought he would have because of the life he had chosen. And now that he'd _had_ it...

Really, he shouldn't think about it anymore. He should just let things go back to how they were before. It was safer. Besides, it was only _once, _andit had been almost twodays ago now. It had just been a- well... it wasn't quite a mistake was it? He _did_ feel better... but... all Lyndon's talk of _women_, he never shut up about them. Countless numbers of poor girls he had slept with and hurt and left behind. He knew that Lyndon had a bigger heart then he let on, but he was still a creature of habit, if the continued _stealing_ was any indication. Jack couldn't think of an idea worse than becoming attracted to the Scoundrel. It would probably be the single dumbest thing he could do because it would only end in heartbreak.

And the proud part of him didn't want to give the narcissistic idiot the _satisfaction _that not even the 'Big Bad Demon Hunter' as Lyndon sometimes called him, was immune to his charm.

Despite this new swirl of emotions, overall, he was more comfortable with the thief then he was with anyone else. They had more in common with each other than Jack had first realized. He tried to direct his new feelings towards developing a better _friendship_ instead.

Jack moved his thoughts along to reflect on Lyndon's earlier question, _Why me? _Why indeed. Jack had pondered it for a while after the thief had asked. He'd acquired a few more vital pieces to the puzzle the thief presented him with and turned them over carefully in his mind: Lyndon had been hurt very badly by the rejection of the woman he loved. _So_ badly, that he closed himself off, never wanting to feel that pain again, hence the facade. He was a very lonely individual, something Jack had come to know with time and observation.

Now that he knew, it was easy to pick it out in his behavior towards others. A desperate plea to be with _someone_. Maybe because he never knew his parents, abandoned by them at birth perhaps? Children become orphans for any number of reasons, poverty, maybe they had died, or an unwanted pregnancy. He wondered how old Lyndon's brother was, were they close in age? Twins perhaps? It was hard to stomach the thought of _two_ Lyndons, even though the thief had claimed his brother wasn't much like him. One was almost more than he could handle. Jack had felt sorry for him when he realized just how lonely the scoundrel was, and tried to be (difficult as it was for him to even _converse_ with other people) a better, more attentive friend.

Lyndon had said his heart was _black_ and that he wasn't a good person. He could not have told a bigger lie than if he'd said Diablo had abandoned his evil ways and turned to the Zakarum church. There were many more walls between the person the thief wanted people to see, and who he really was, than Jack had initially thought.

Lyndon also had a lot to learn combat wise. Kormac and Eirena had been trained, Jack had trained, but Lyndon had no formal training and just worked from what his brother had taught him and his experiences in the Thieves Guild. He survived on natural talent and luck most of the time and Jack wanted to help him and teach him to be better.

But _why_ _him_ though?

Lyndon was relentlessly optimistic. Jack had never met anyone quite like him before, perhaps only Covetous Shen had even come close, and Jack was fairly certain the eccentric jeweler was not _quite_ a human. The scoundrel had a child-like wonder for new and exciting things that Jack didn't see in people anymore. The world of Sanctuary was a harsh one and children either grew up quickly or died. The thief laughed easily and often, despite mistakes he'd made in his life and a guilt that weighed on him heavily.

Jack wanted, no, _needed_ to protect that light in him. He needed to protect all that was warm in good in the world and keep it from turning as cold and desolate as his own tired heart.

Because if all the world lost its warmth and became as dark and as bleak as himself then all the fighting would be for _nothing_.

Jack sat still and let his eyes close, feeling tired, but relaxed by all of Lyndon's persistent contact. It seemed like he might be able to sleep a little after all, he always slept better during the day anyways. The rocking motion of the caravan as it continued down the road was soothing. And the birds were talking amiably to each other in the forest. He was glad the animals were coming back, he had missed their sounds of life. Jack concentrated on the lilt of familiar voices and where his shoulder connected with the thief's, beginning to doze. The warmth that seeped from the scoundrel heated his body and slowly began to thaw his frozen heart.

―End


End file.
